


Outtakes

by NotASpaceAlien



Series: Your Own Side [6]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12054690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: Scenes from Your Own Side that didn't fit anywhere else





	1. The Siege of the Library

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165205023315/your-own-side-outtake-1-the-siege-of-the

 

* * *

Aziraphale and Crowley hopped on a plane over to Abraxas’s home turf as soon as they got the message from her.

Abraxas and Paula met them at the airport.  “Thank goodness you’re here!” said Paula, giving them each a kiss on the cheek. “And thanks for coming so quickly. Abraxas and I are in a bit over our heads, here.”

“Where are we headed?” said Crowley.  “What are we dealing with, here?”

“Someone has stolen the public library.”

* * *

Their group of four—five if you counted Mittens—lay on the building opposite the public library, lying flat to the roof to avoid notice so they could observe.

The building had been covered with anti-demon sigils, laid so heavily and so thickly that you would only be able to get in if you had a key of some sort.  The inside, visible through the windows, was in disarray: the tables and chairs of the reading nooks and kid’s sections had been overturned and pushed to the side to make more room. And every square inch of the place—floor, counters, desks, every imaginable nook and cranny, to the point where there didn’t appear any room to move about inside—was covered in books.

Crowley whistled. “Lotta books.”

“Well, it _is_ a library,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley looked like he wanted to smack Aziraphale.  “You know what I mean!  So what’s going on?”

“Well,” said Paula, “we sensed demonic activity and headed over to check it out, only to see someone had pushed all the humans out of their library and locked themselves in! We’ve been trying to drive them out, but we can’t make any progress.  It looks like they only come out to get more books and bring them back here.”

“Did you get a good look at whoever it was?”

Abraxas shook her head. “I did see something huge, with a lion’s body and eagle wings.”

Crowley tapped his fingers. “That doesn’t sound like any demon I know.  It couldn’t be Anzû, could it?”

Abraxas shook her head. “No, definitely not him.  It looked like a griffin, in all honesty.”

“A griffin?” said Crowley. “A _griffin_ took control of the library?”

Aziraphale peered over the roof.  “Where are they now?  There doesn’t appear to be any activity inside.”

As if to answer him, his ears prickled to a faint scream, getting gradually louder and louder.

Mittens hissed.  All four turned as one to the sky, where something with a bulky body and broad wings was diving towards them.  And on its back was a demoness, completely naked, screaming her head off, and with a stack of books under one arm, the other around the creature’s neck holding on for dear life.

The creature flew so low its claws threatened to scrape them, and they dived out of the way as it came in.

Abraxas resumed her spot, eyes sparkling. “Oh, that’s _definitely_ a griffin.”

The screaming died as the griffin touched down, flicking its tail and trotting to the library entrance. The demon removed itself from its back, then began to jump around excitedly, doing cartwheels and hooting and yelling _That was awesome!_

“Oh no,” groaned Crowley. “Isn’t that… _her?_ Aziraphale?”

“Her?”

“That demon we helped. Yulera.”

Aziraphale’s face went stormy.  “I’m _not_ giving her back the Key of Solomon, if that’s what she’s after.”

Crowley watched as Yulera swiped her hand in a complex pattern on the door, and the sigils pulled to the side to allow her entry.  The griffin pattered in behind her like an obedient dog.

“Wait a minute, you _took_ the Key of Solomon off her,” said Crowley. “And I’m positive some random public library isn’t going to have a copy of it.  How did she manage to pull off such complex spell work with no reference material?  Unless she memorized the damn thing somehow.”

“Hardly likely,” said Aziraphale.  He squinted and watched through the window as Yulera distributed her new acquisitions among the piles and piles surrounding her.  His suspicions about there being no path on the floor were confirmed when he saw Yulera move about by scuttling across the ceiling like a lizard.  “All right, regardless of the fact that we helped her in the past, we can’t let this continue.  Come on, Paula.  It looks like the defenses mostly bar demons.  You and I should be able to get past them.”

“Abraxas and I can stand by the door,” said Crowley.

“Jolly good.”

A few minutes later and Aziraphale was wading through a mess a thousand times worse than even the worst state he had let his shop fall into.  He desperately tried to move the books out of the way to avoid stepping on them, but it was simply impractical.

“Yulera!” said Aziraphale. “Where are you?  I need to talk to you!”

“Who’s there?” echoed a manic voice through the library.  “How did you get in?”

“It’s me, Aziraphale! Do you remember me?”

There was a sound of a stack of books falling over.  The griffin appeared on top of one of the shelves, perching with its claws out, eyeing him up like a hawk on a rabbit.

“Er,” said Aziraphale. “We just want to talk!  Would you come out, please!”

One of the ceiling tiles shifted, and Yulera dropped from the ceiling, landing in a pile of books and disappearing under the resulting avalanche.

“Are you all right?” said Paula.

“You can’t have any of my books!” Yulera yelled, struggling out of the pile.  “If that’s what you’re here for, you can forget it!”

“We’re not trying to take your books,” Paula said.

“They’re not _yours_ ,” said Aziraphale. “You stole them.”

Yulera blinked at him. “What do you mean?  I stole them, so that makes them mine.”

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale, rubbing his temples.  “All right, maybe we shouldn’t have let you go off without teaching you a little bit about how Earth works first.”

“Yulera,” said Paula gently. “How many books do you really need?  Have you read all of these?”

Yulera gathered the nearest pile of books in her arms, like a kid set loose in a candy store.  “I need all of them!”

“Ah, that’s not to say it’s immoral to sit on a large collection of books you rarely use,” said Aziraphale, backpedaling.  “It’s just that...  You see, er…these books are supposed to be for sharing.  The humans use this place to read.”

“And now I’m using it!” said Yulera.  “And my griffin friend is too!”

The griffin flicked its tail.

“There are so _many,_ ” said Yulera.  “I’m not even a tenth of the way through all the books on Earth, I’m sure of it.  But I’ll get them all.  I’ve already moved my collection from Hell up here.”

Paula spluttered. “You’re trying to collect every book on _Earth?_ ”

“What’s to stop me?” Yulera said.  “I can do anything I put my mind to!”

“Is this what you did in Hell?  Just steal every book you could get your hands on?”

“Yes, and it’s working just fine for me up here too!”

“Look, obviously nobody told you!” said Aziraphale. “But things work a bit differently up here than in Hell!”

“Like how?”

“Well, you’re supposed to wear clothes, for one!”

“You people and your clothes!  Maltha made me wear clothes, too, and that was the only thing I hated about the first layer!”  

“And you’re not supposed to cause such a huge scene and draw attention to yourself!”

“Well, why not?”

“Because you’re just not!” said Aziraphale.

“She’s a demon!” Crowley yelled from the entrance.  “That’s not going to work on her!”

“I’m not giving them back,” said Yulera.  “This is where I live now.  Now get out!”

“The griffin!” Abraxas yelled to them.  “Ask how she got it to hang about around her!”

“That’s a good question,” said Paula.  “How _did_ you get a griffin to hang about around you?”

“For your _information!_ ” Yulera yelled, chucking a book at Paula. Paula dodged.  “Griffins acknowledge individuals based on their wisdom—”

Aziraphale ducked out of the way as a volume of poetry flew at his head.

“Moral character—”

Both angels took cover as a barrage of atlases and dictionaries came at them.

“ _And whether or not one conducts themselves with dignity and grace!_ ”

“Ask her if she thinks she’s conducting herself with grace right now!” said Abraxas’s voice.

“Shut up!” Yulera said.  

“It’s true,” said Aziraphale.  “This is supposed to be a place of respite and learning.  And you’ve turned it into a chaotic mess.  That’s not very dignified.”

Yulera looked at him with wide eyes.  “That’s not true!”

“You have to share these books.  You can’t just take them.”

“I’ve already taken them! They’re mine!  I’m not sharing with anyone!  I don’t care who it hurts!”

The griffin snorted, and Yulera looked over to see it eyeing her very disapprovingly.

“I—I—”

The griffin turned its nose up at her and trotted away to exit.

“Wait!” Yulera wailed, letting the volumes in her hand fall to the ground. “Wait, don’t go!”

The griffin paused with one paw on an open windowsill.

Yulera looked like she was hyperventilating.  “All right. You don’t like someone who’s greedy. Is that it?”

The griffin was impassive.

“All right!” Yulera said wretchedly.  “All right, I won’t be greedy!  I’ll share!” She fell to the ground, rolling dramatically.  “Even if it means I don’t get to own any books!”

“Yulera,” said Paula, exasperated.  “We’re not saying you can’t own _any_ books.  You just can’t go around stealing them from people and bullying humans for them.”

“What?” said Yulera. “What other way of getting books is there besides stealing them?”

Paula smacked her forehead.

“Come on,” said Aziraphale. “Let’s clean up this mess, and I’ll show you.”

* * *

They collected what books actually belonged to Yulera from out of the chaos and packed them up in a crate before beginning their work.  Crowley insisted he and Abraxas couldn’t help because of the anti-demon sigils even after the sigils had been removed.  Aziraphale was having none of it, and he coerced the two demons into coming in to help sort through which books belonged to the library and which had been brought in from elsewhere.

They interrogated Yulera as to where the outside books had come from, and eventually found out that she had been raiding nearby bookstores at night on the assumption that they were personal collections held by high-ranking humans.  She had also been snatching them out of the hands of human passersby.  There was a college campus nearby, so that might explain the high proportion of textbooks among the lot.

The four of them looked at the huge volume of volumes, feeling despair sink in.  Yulera wrung her hands. The griffin did not seem to care either way.

“This is going to take _days_ to sort through, even with miracles,” said Abraxas.  “We’ll never get them all back to their proper owners.”

“But we have to,” said Paula.

“Or we could just…” said Crowley.  “…not.”

“But then who will?” said Aziraphale.

Crowley shrugged. “Does it matter as long as it’s _not_ us?”

The four friends looked at each other, then back at the books.  Then slowly, as one, they backed away, then ran out the front door, leaving a big mess for whatever unfortunate humans got stuck with the responsibility.

* * *

The bell on Aziraphale’s bookshop door tinkled as they entered.  Yulera’s bare feet pattered on the wood floor as she scuttled in, looking enraptured.

“These are all yours?” said Yulera.

“Yup,” said Aziraphale.

“And you didn’t steal them?”

“No.”

Crowley began, “Well, he might have stolen one here and th—”

Aziraphale cut him off by elbowing him sharply.  “Not a one. I bought them, found them, commissioned them, copied them, or wrote them myself.”

“That’s so cool,” said Yulera, eyes sparkling.  “And you don’t have to share them?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat.  “Well, only if someone wakes up early enough to make it in before I close at nine.”

“Can I do this?” said Yulera, tail wiggling in excitement.  “Can I run a bookshop?”

“I noticed the real estate across the street from here is open,” said Paula, rubbing her chin.  “Is there any reason why we couldn’t help her set up there?  It’d keep her out of trouble.”

Aziraphale was immediately conflicted.  On one hand, having a second bookshop across the street meant there was a danger more book-lovers would consider this street a destination to stop by when shopping. On the other hand, having a second bookshop across the street meant he could point customers to go check there when they asked for a book that he had, but did not want to part with.

He couldn’t say no to Yulera’s face.  “All right, I’ll help you,” said Aziraphale, then rushed on before she started celebrating, “But only if you put some clothes on!  You can’t run a shop when you’re indecent like that!”

Yulera crossed her arms sourly.

“You’re a succubus, aren’t you?” said Crowley.

“…Maybe,” said Yulera.

“Demons of lust don’t usually wear clothes, Aziraphale.”

“Well, bookshop owners do, I assure you!” said Aziraphale.  “This isn’t negotiable!”

* * *

Yulera, of course, did not know the first thing about running a business.  Well, neither had Aziraphale when he started, and he hadn’t let that stop him.

Crowley managed to secure the building with a few phone calls, one of which escalated into him intimidating a realtor in person.  But he walked out with the keys.

The next step was making Yulera presentable. She had to change her shape first, which was more difficult than anticipated.  At first they thought Yulera struggled to control her form the same way Mykas had, but in the end it turned out she was perfectly in control of her shape and simply hadn’t wanted to.  She seem distressed by the fact that her tail was gone, but Crowley assured her it was still there and she could bring it back whenever she wanted.

They got her some clothes next.  Aziraphale muttered about his pocket book, while Crowley impatiently reminded him _both_ demons had offered to simply miracle her some threads instead of buying them at the department store, and that Aziraphale had turned them down.

Aziraphale roped Abraxas and Paula into staying to help, since this had started as their problem. They agreed since they didn’t want to go back home just yet and see the state of the public library.

“There we are,” said Paula, examining the inside of the building.  “This is nice.  Plenty of room.”

“I don’t like the windows,” said Yulera, sounding very unhappy.  She ruffled the lace on the skirt she had picked out.  “Anyone walking by can just see right in.”

“That’s the point of shop fronts,” said Abraxas.

“But what if they come inside?” Yulera cried.

Abraxas dragged her hands down her face.

“Look,” said Crowley. “You’re used to living in a cave where you could hide out.  This is going to be a bit different.  It’s all right, I assure you.  The only ones going to come inside are humans, and you can handle them.”

“No I can’t!”

“You handled the queen of Hell!”

Yulera sulked.  “But what am I supposed to _do_ with humans?  They’re just going to come in and stare at me?”

“Hey!” said Abraxas, snapping her fingers.  “You said you liked working in the kitchen in the first circle, right?”

Yulera nodded vigorously.

“You can use this counter here as a diner.  You can have a little combination café-bookstore.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” said Aziraphale, because if the bookstore across the street from his was obviously, visibly nicer, it meant no human in their right mind would want to come to his instead.

They acquired some furniture, starting with bookshelves of course.  While they were helping Yulera unpack her collection, Aziraphale took a peeling leather-bound volume out of the crate and stared at it.

“This bestiary,” he said, gasping.  “Where did you get it from?”

“I stole it from Duke Andras.”

Aziraphale flipped it open, knees weakening.  “Oh my…I’ve…I’ve never seen a copy of this before…They’re so rare…”

Crowley heard the tone in his voice and raised the alarm.  “All right, angel, that belongs to her.  You can’t take it.”

“I’ll trade you for it,” said Aziraphale, salivating.

“No!” said Yulera, leaping forwards and ripping it out of his hands.  “Absolutely not!”

“It has the original charcoal illustrations!” said Aziraphale.

“No!” said Yulera, backing up, clutching it.

“I’ll give you any book from my collection for it!”

“You can’t have it!”

Aziraphale fled across the street to his shop and came back with a comparable volume.  “Here!  The Key of Solomon that you wanted to badly!  I’ll give it back to you, if you give me the bestiary.”

Yulera’s face reddened, clearly very conflicted.

“Come on, angel,” said Crowley.  “Be fair. Her collection is smaller than yours.”

“No!” said Yulera.  “I don’t need that anymore!  I won’t trade this for anything.”

Yulera bustled about snatching her more precious volumes off the shelves, out of Aziraphale’s sight. He watched her cart them off regretfully, imagining what other treasures she might have stored that were out of his reach.

* * *

This whole venture turned out to be a dreadful mistake for Aziraphale.  He helped Yulera locate some sources of books that wouldn’t get her in trouble, and cut the ribbon with her for her grand opening.  The next day, he woke up to see that Yulera had boarded the windows up and laced the outside of her building with sigils to make it as fortified as the library had been.  And the griffin was lounging on the roof like a gargoyle, guarding it.

This was going to be a long headache for him.


	2. Rekindling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165349965635/your-own-side-outtake-2-rekindling

 

Crowley’s last meeting with Ramial had taken him by surprise, so he hadn’t had time to be nervous at all.  This time around, he had a full three days to worry about it.

They made plans via letter, then Crowley restlessly set about preparing.  All his memories from before the fall were hazy, and he desperately tried to remember any details about the time he and Ramial had spent together. Not much came to him.  All he could remember was something about Ramial breaking a harp, which didn’t seem very important.

The only thing that was clear to him was that they had been very, very close.  Her name and face, and the associated feeling of _home_ , was all he had to go on.

And he wondered if Ramial had anything more to go on.  Was his memory clouded by the fall, or did he simply not have a good enough memory to recall things from six millennia ago with more clarity?  He would find out, he guessed.

Aziraphale went out of town for a book fair of some sort, through Crowley suspected he just wanted to give Crowley his privacy.  Ramial had asked about his car and whether they might work together to fix it, so Crowley decided they should meet at his flat since he had a spot in the attached garage where they could work.

It would be casual. Just dinner, a little activity together, nothing more.  Something safe and easy.

That’s what Crowley kept telling himself, anyway.  He hadn’t been this self-conscious and nervous to impress someone since before he and Aziraphale came to the Arrangement.

He got the food ready, set the table, and waited for the buzzer to ring.  When it did, he waited twenty seconds before getting up to answer so as not to appear too eager.

He swung the door open. Only to see not Ramial’s face, but the armored breastplate of a warrior angel at eye level.

“Ah!” said Crowley, jumping back.

The warrior looked down on him stonily.  “You are the demon Crowley?”

Crowley, sweating, answered, “Ah…depends…Has this Crowley fellow done anything to piss you off?”

The warrior angel did not respond, a sullen look on her face.

“Ah,” said Ramial’s voice, and she appeared beside the warrior, trying to squeeze past her into the doorway.  “Seleniel, could you…”

The warrior angel angled herself ever so slightly, allowing Ramial to slide past and stand in front of Crowley. Ramial rubbed the back of her head. “Sorry about that, Crowley…I couldn’t convince her not to come.”

“A healer is defenseless without her warriors,” said Seleniel.

Ramial grimaced. “Right, er…Well, I only told Crowley to cook for two people.”

“I will wait outside,” said Seleniel.  “And I will come in if I hear either of you raise your voice.”

“All right.”

The warrior stepped out and shut the door.

Ramial wrung her hands. “Sorry, er…Sorry.”

Crowley gave her his best reassuring smile.  “It happens. I know how stubborn you angels can be.”

Ramial perked up a little.

“Come on, I’m ready to put dinner on the table.”

Ramial seated herself, and Crowley came out with their plates.

“Oh, this looks delicious.”

They both ate with small, polite bites.

“So…” Crowley began. “How have you been?”

“Oh, fine,” said Ramial. “You?”

“Well enough,” said Crowley.

Ramial crunched on a piece of celery.  Crowley twirled his fork.  Both of them mentally scrambled to drudge up a topic to begin a meaningful conversation.

“Do you remember that thing with the harp?” said Ramial.

“Yeah!” said Crowley.

“Oh, good,” said Ramial.  “Good times.  Right?”

Ramial seemed to be recalling it with a great deal more fondness than Crowley found appropriate for what appeared to him an unimportant memory.  “Er....yeah.”

Ramial seemed a little disheartened by the lack of enthusiasm in his response, but she said nothing.

The clock ticked in the otherwise quiet room.  They crunched their way through the food in silence.

Crowley couldn’t help but despair about the way things were going by the time he was clearing the plates without anything beyond superficial small talk under their belts.

“That was delicious,” said Ramial. “Thank you for cooking.”

“You’re welcome,” said Crowley.  He had ordered takeout from down the street and warmed it in the oven to make it look like he had cooked it.

Ramial cleared her throat.

“Ah…Want to go take a look at the car?” said Crowley.

“Oh, yes!” said Ramial, perking up again.

Maybe the car would save them, Crowley hoped.  Ramial went to the door and led the way to elevator.

Seleniel was still standing outside facing the door.  Her position and disapproving expression hadn’t changed in the slightest.

“We’re going outside,” said Ramial.

“I will circle in the sky and watch,” said Seleniel.

“All right!”

Seleniel stepped to the side to let Crowley through.  Ramial motored back to the elevator.

As Crowley went to walk past Seleniel, she caught his arm in a vice-like grip, leaned down, and growled into his ear, “If you hurt her, I’ll snap your spine in half.”

“Ah-ha-ha,” said Crowley, politely trying to remove his arm.  “Aw, come on, a little shrimpy guy like me?  What could I do to her?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Crowley didn’t know a thing and was sure he was missing something.  And did he detect a hint of…jealousy?

“Everything all right?” called Ramial.

Seleniel released him, standing to the side and crossing her arms.  Crowley hustled to the elevator before the doors closed.

They made their way to the garage without incident.  Crowley pulled the Bentley out onto the pavement, below where Seleniel was circling in the sky like a hawk.

“It’s so cool,” said Ramial. “I’m so sorry I wrecked it.”

“She’s been through worse,” said Crowley.  “I’ve already gotten the frame mostly back into shape.”

“How does it go?” said Ramial.  “I know it doesn’t use miracles, but I can’t imagine how.”

“Ah,” said Crowley. “Well, you see, _my_ car uses miracles, because otherwise it would take a lot of upkeep and boring rubbish that I don’t have time for.  But usually, they—here, I’ll pop the bonnet open and show you.”

He exposed the car’s engine. Ramial looked at it with sparkles in her eyes.

“See, the spark plugs here—” He put his hands in the engine to show her.  “—ignite the air-vapor mix sucked into the chamber by the motion of the pistons. The aerosolised gasoline creates an explosion that pumps the piston back up, and the piston turns a shaft that conveys the motion to the wheels.  The…”

He trailed off as he realised Ramial was looking at him, not at the engine.

“You know so much cool stuff, Crowley,” said Ramial.  “I was never allowed to go off by myself and do cool human stuff like this.  I had to stay with the warriors.”

Crowley shut the bonnet. “Well, I can show you some stuff when you’re free, if you like.”

“How did you learn all this?” said Ramial.  “This is the kind of thing field agents do.”

“I _am_ a field agent.”

Ramial looked at him dully. “But…you’re a healer.”

“Ah, see,” Crowley said, tapping the side of his head.  “That’s the thing.  You know how in Heaven, when someone’s assigned a new role, they get Uriel to change their aura?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Hell doesn’t have anybody to do that.  So everybody just kind of does whatever job they get their hands on.  A healer could be a field agent, or even a warrior.  A warrior could be a field agent, or try to be a healer.”

“Doesn’t sound very efficient.”

“It’s not,” said Crowley, laughing.

“And a Foundation could be a leader,” murmured Ramial.

Crowley fell silent. “Yeah.”

“Satan _was_ a Foundation angel, wasn’t he?”

“Yes…I can’t remember exactly what he did, though.  I’m not sure anyone can.”

“What was he like?” said Ramial, resting her arms on top of the Bentley.  “Satan?  I hardly remember him in Heaven.”

Crowley removed a wrench he had laid on top of the engine, fiddling with it.  “Not as bad as everyone made him out to be….But still pretty bad.”

“You met him, then?”

“I guess you could say that. I’m one of the demons who’ve had the _oh-so-great_ honour of being tortured by Satan himself.”

Ramial stared at him with horror.  Crowley fiddled with the wrench.

“You were tortured?” said Ramial.

“Yeah, but not like it was the first time,” said Crowley, with forced casualness.  “So I’m used to it.  Usually I manage to get out of it, but every couple of centuries it just—” He motioned with his hand in no particular direction.  “It just, you know.  Happens.”

“That’s horrible,” said Ramial.  She moved a bit closer to him, putting a hand on his arm.

“Aw, it’s not as bad as everyone thinks,” said Crowley.  Even he was struck by how bizarrely cheerful his voice came out. “Usually just for a few hours.  A nice light torture every now and then builds character.”

“You’re so strong, Crowley,” said Ramial, sounding like she wanted to cry.  “I couldn’t imagine how I would deal with that.  You’re so tough.”

“Well, it’s not like—” Crowley started.

Ramial cut him off by closing her eyes, leaning in, and kissing him.

Crowley dropped the wrench.

Crowley kept his eyes open as it happened, too surprised to register what was happening as Ramial’s hands made their way to his face, the kiss going on and on.

“Er, wait,” Crowley tried to say, but Ramial wouldn’t get her lips off his.  Crowley planted one hand on the Bentley and with the other grabbed her arm.

When Ramial finally drew back, she had a huge smile on her face.  “It’s just like when we kissed in Heaven.”

“W-we—we kissed in Heaven,” said Crowley flatly, knocking over a screwdriver that had been balanced on the bonnet.

“Yes,” said Ramial.  “And it was just like that.  I’m so happy. It’s exactly as it was.  I was afraid you’d be so different, but we can pick up right where we left off.”

Crowley felt his knees wobbling, fearful of losing this fresh friendship at the very beginning of trying to restart it.  “Ah—R-Ramial, I don’t….I mean, I didn’t—Well, Ramial, I think we might have had a slight miscommunication here.”

Ramial’s smile began to fade.  “What do you mean?”

Sweating, Crowley looked in the sky where Seleniel was still circling, suddenly worried about his spine. “Well, I’m—I’m with Aziraphale.”

“Yeah,” said Ramial. “But he’s not here, so now you’re with me.”

“I—ahh,” said Crowley, rubbing his face.  “How to explain this, uhh…I think you might not be understanding fully…The type of relationship I have with Aziraphale means you’re not supposed to be…intimate in a certain way with anyone else unless you’ve talked about it first.”

Ramial stared at him, as though processing. “Oh, do you mean…you’re… _with_ him the way humans get _with_ each other?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Ramial’s face grew red like a thermometer filling up.  “Oh—Oh no! I didn’t know!  I guess I just assumed—I—If I had known—I wouldn’t have—I’m so sorry!  I’ve ruined it again!  I’m such a fool!”

Relieved, Crowley put a hand on her arm.  “You didn’t understand, it’s all right.”

Huffing, Ramial sat down on the pavement.  “You understand everything so naturally, Crowley, and you’ve learned so much, and you’re this cool and interesting person and I…haven’t changed a single bit. I’m such a loser.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” said Crowley, sitting down by her.  “Come on, don’t be so hard on yourself.  Our situations are different.”

“I—I guess I had thought maybe we could go back to the way things were before...  And didn’t realize things could have changed...And I thought about how nice it would be to be so close to someone again, but I could only picture it with you.”

“Oh no,” said Crowley, because now the entire picture of what had happened came crashing into him, that maybe a warrior who secretly had a crush on their unit’s healer had gone unnoticed because the healer had been too preoccupied obsessing over someone else she had lost, and when the three finally met, the warrior had only been able to express her frustration by threatening to snap the spine of the object of her unrequited love’s affection.

Ramial looked at him.

“Ramial, you didn’t…?” Crowley began.  “I mean, if you felt lonely, you could have turned to the angels you were looking after.”

“I know healers usually get all the companionship they need from the camaraderie with their charges,” said Ramial.  “But I…I felt like I wanted just one person…to be special to.  To be special to each other.  You know what I mean?  But I just kept imagining you would feel betrayed, like I had abandoned you, if I...got too close to anyone else.  But now I see that wasn’t the case.”

Floundering, Crowley tried, “Come on, Ramial.  You’re not...” but trailed off without finishing his sentence.

“You’re right,” said Ramial.  “I’m sorry.  We’ve changed so much.  It’s my fault for thinking it would be this simple.”

Crowley wrung his hands helplessly.

Ramial stood.  “I think I’d better get going.”

“Aw, wait,” said Crowley. “I still want to be friends.  I _do,_ if you’d like that.”

“I’m not sure anymore, Crowley,” said Ramial.  “I wouldn’t want to intrude on you and Aziraphale.  The two of you don’t need me, and I don’t know if he’d like me hanging around you now that it’s obvious I...”

“Wait,” said Crowley, seizing his opportunity.  “What if we do a double date?”

“Double?”

“You could bring someone else.  I’ll drive all four of us to the Ritz.”

“All four?” said Ramial, looking overwhelmed.

“Me and Aziraphale, and you and whoever you like.  You don’t have to be lonely.”

“But who would want to be special to me?” Ramial cried.

Crowley rubbed his temples, then gestured madly up into the sky.

Ramial followed his hands up to Seleniel.  “ _Her?_  You don’t think…”

“You don’t like her?”

“No, I….I do.  But I guess I didn’t think…she would like _me._ ”

Seleniel had begun to descend towards them.  “Geez,” said Crowley. “Use your imagination a little.”

Seleniel alighted on the pavement a respectable distance away from him.  “Ramial,” she said.  “I just received word the commander wants us back at HQ right away.”

“Oh,” said Ramial. “Okay, let’s go, then.”  She turned back to Crowley.  “One more hug?”

He gave her one.

“Thanks,” she said.  

Crowley waved as she walked back over to Seleniel.

“If we get in trouble for leaving our posts,” said Seleniel, “I’ll say it was my idea.”

Ramial looked her up and down with fresh perspective, as though realizing a hidden motivation behind all of Seleniel’s past actions.  “All…all right.”

Crowley watched them fly off together, then finished the work on the Bentley himself.  When he came back into his flat, he found a letter in his inbox on celestial parchment.

_Crowley,_

_How about that double date on Thursday?_

_-Ramial_


	3. Sex Ed, part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165490605780/your-own-side-outtake-3-sex-ed-part-1

 

"Raphael! Raphael, come quick! Michael is hurt!”

Raphael could not ignore such a summons.  He dashed out of the room, following the lesser healer that had come to get him as quickly as possible.

But…Michael? Hurt?  It seemed unlikely.  As Heaven’s greatest warrior, it would take a lot to hurt him.  And he hadn’t even faced any forces of the adversary yet! As far as Raphael knew, Michael wasn’t even supposed to leave Heaven.

So how would he have gotten hurt?

Raphael skittered to a stop in the lobby, where a gaggle of lesser healers were gathered around Michael, supporting him under the arms.  Raphael noted with a shock that Michael had been incorporated.  He was sobbing mightily, but the source of his distress was not immediately obvious.

“All right, all right, I’m here,” said Raphael, pushing the other healers out of the way to reach the other archangel.  “What’s wrong? Where are you injured?”

“M-my groin,” said Michael. “It’s bleeding.”

Michael had a tunic pressed to the aforementioned area, which Raphael did not ask him to remove. “All right,” said Raphael, taking his hand and leading him back into the healer’s clinic.

The other healers followed like ducklings behind Raphael as he escorted Michael into an examination room. He helped the warrior up onto the table—an impressive feat, considering their relative sizes.

“It hurts,” moaned Michael. “Raphael, I think I’m dying.  This is it.”

“Let me see,” said Raphael, pulling at Michael’s clothes.

“This is the end for me. Goodbye, brother.  I love you.  Someone else will have to lead the war in my place.”

Raphael removed the clothes blocking his view to find that Michael was exactly right—a smear of blood trailed down his inner thighs.  But…

Raphael sighed. “Michael.”

Michael finally ceased his dramatic bemoaning of his fate.  “Yes?”

“How long have you been in this corporation?”

“’Bout…’bout four weeks.”

Raphael rolled his eyes and turned to the sink, washing the blood off his hands.  “You’re not injured. This is a feature of certain kinds of human bodies.”

“Wh- _what?_ ” stammered Michael.  “What do you mean?”

“If your body has a uterus it sheds the lining every month or so.  The uterine lining has heavy blood content.”

“But I hurt!”

“That’s the contractions in the muscles to push it out.”

Michael did not seem satisfied with the answer.  “I don’t understand.  What’s the point?”

“It functions in reproduction in humans.  But there’s no point to it for you.  I think you should be able to turn it off, if you want.”

Michael fidgeted. “Well, I mean, it stops eventually right? So if I can just get through it, it’ll be over?”

“Michael.  It happens every month,” Raphael repeated.

Michael looked at him with disgust.  “Every _month?_ A warrior can’t shed blood—”

“It’s not an injury.  It’s a perfectly natural feature of your body.”

Michael had a stormy look on his face.  “What did you mean I could turn it off?”

“Humans can’t do it, but you can make minor changes to the corporation they gave you.  Customize it, if you like.”

Michael seemed skeptical of all the words coming out of Raphael’s mouth.  The healer sighed again and took Michael’s hands.  “Michael, did they not tell you your body would do this when they gave it to you?”

“No.”

“You know,” said Raphael, “would you believe that you are the _eleventh_ angel who came to the clinic panicking because their genitals were bleeding?  Are they not telling the angels getting these bodies how they work?”

“I guess not,” said Michael, fidgeting.

“What did they tell you when they gave it to you?”

“That I needed to be careful with it, because they didn’t want to have to replace it.”

“That’s _it_?”

Michael nodded, looking embarrassed, as though _he_ had done something wrong.

“All right,” said Raphael. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Clean yourself up and get out of here. You’ll either have to swap bodies or learn how to deal with it.”

“How am I supposed to deal with this?” said Michael, incredulous.

Raphael didn’t answer, because he didn’t know.  He left Michael to his own devices and walked out.

Raphael parried the questions of those in the lobby away in order to get to his next destination: the office of Divine Affairs on Earth.

He had to strong-arm his way past Gabriel’s assistant to get into the other archangel’s office, but he managed.  Gabriel looked up from his desk to the healer as he came in.

“Raphael!” said Gabriel. “What can I do for you?  Settling into the archangel role well at the clinic?”

“Er, yes, sir,” said Raphael stiffly.  “I wanted to talk to you about something related…”

“All right,” said Gabriel. “Take a seat.”

He did so and began, “Sir, I know that Heaven has started giving out corporations to the field agents on Earth.”

“Yes, they’re quite convenient,” said Gabriel. “So far they’re reporting it’s making it much easier to get work done.”

“Er, right,” said Raphael. “But I have a concern.  Have you been giving them any…instructions when you give the bodies out?  A ‘how-to-human 101’ primer, or something?”

Gabriel stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“Anything at all?  You just foist a sack of bones and meat onto them and cheer, ‘Good luck, I’m sure you’ll figure it out!’”

“I wasn’t aware there was anything about them that would merit special instructions,” said Gabriel.

“Sweet Jesus,” said Raphael, rubbing his temples.  “Look, you _did_ at least give them some instructions about how to maintain it, right? They know they need to feed it, right?”

Gabriel blinked at him.

“Did you help them get into them?  Make sure they fit right?”

“Fit how?”

“Well, an archangel might need a larger one to accommodate a larger aura.  Something along those lines.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” said Gabriel.  

“Did you not pay attention to _anything_ Miriam said before she—Er, look, Gabriel, in my professional opinion, as a healer and healthcare provider, human bodies require quite a lot of upkeep.  The angel inside can make it work by using miracles and suchlike, but there are certain things it needs for, er…optimal performance. Water.  Food.  Sleep. At least every once in a while. And the, er….reproductive system—“

“The field agents will certainly have no use for that,” said Gabriel stormily.

“Right,” said Raphael, “but you need at least _tell_ them about it.  Michael came in panicking because his body—“

“Michael has a body?” said Gabriel.

“Yes. And he was in a right state because it—“

“I don’t think we ever agreed that Michael should be incorporated. He doesn’t have work to do on Earth.”

“Er, right,” said Raphael, trying to skirt around that back to his point.  “But what I’m saying is—”

“I’ll have to have a word with the incorporation division,” said Gabriel.  “We can’t just hand those things out willy-nilly.  There’s paperwork involved.”

“Right.”

“And Michael shouldn’t just be running about like that.  We should have it taken off of him.”

Raphael bit his lip. “With all due respect, sir, he’s an archangel just as you are, he has free reign to—”

“Look,” Gabriel cut him off. “You’re a bright fellow, it’s obvious, but you’re still new to this position and there are things you obviously don’t quite understand yet.  Just leave Michael to me, and I’ll leave your clinic to you. Now, what was it you were concerned about?”

If Raphael had had more of a spine, he might have continued to contest, but he didn’t.  “Well, I just think that the angels getting corporations should be given some instructions about them.”

“All right,” said Gabriel. “Why don’t you see to it, then?”

“Me?”

“Why not?”

“Er, well Miriam was really the one who had been involved in the pilot tests for corporation.  She and Divine Affairs worked together to engineer the mechanism of connecting the angelic body to the physical corporation, but I wasn’t really involved with all that…”

Gabriel gave him a hard look.  “So you’re saying you can’t do it?  Who would be more qualified than you?”

Raphael clenched his jaw. “Nobody, sir.  I’ll take care of it.”

He walked out with a lot more work on his plate and a sour attitude.  He would, unfortunately, not be very successful.  Maltha would be right when she would say, almost six-thousand years later, that he struggled to get anything done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost took this scene out entirely, but it was too good to pass up the implication that Maltha was partially responsible for making and handing out bodies, and the extension that maybe if one of her humans friends, say, died, she could just whip them up a new body ;)


	4. Sex Ed, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165492379635/your-own-side-outtake-4-sex-ed-part-2

 

“The shop is closed, I’m afraid.  You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

“Aziraphale, it’s me.”

Aziraphale poked his head out of the back room to see that Angelo was standing in the main shop, looking hesitant.

“Oh, hello, Angelo,” said Aziraphale.  “Is there something you needed?  Crowley and I were sort of in the middle of something.”

“Oh,” said Angelo, looking crestfallen.  “That’s all right.  I can ask someone else.”

“Er…” said Aziraphale, feeling guilty.  He glanced into the back room, where Crowley was still engrossed in the wine.  The demon jerked his head to the side.   _Get him out._

Aziraphale looked back to Angelo, who looked like he really needed help with something.  Aziraphale sighed and pulled out a chair.  “All right, Angelo, what is it you need?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and remained stubbornly in the back room.  Angelo took a seat by the counter.  “Well, Aziraphale,” he said.  “Now that Michael—er, Mykas—isn’t under Heaven any more, I was thinking….the two of us…could…um…”

He trailed off. “Yes?” Aziraphale prompted.

“Well, they never let Michael use his corporation for things he really wanted,” said Angelo, flushing red. “So we didn’t…”

“You didn’t…”

“You know.”

“I know?  You—ohhhhh.”

“I think Mykas and I should have sex.”

Aziraphale materialised a glass of wine directly into his hand and downed it in one long gulp.

“But I don’t know how, so I was hoping that you might…er, give me some advice.”

Aziraphale looked into the back room and made eye contact with Crowley, as if to say _Help._  Crowley pretended not to see him, as if to say _You’re on your own with this one._

“You don’t have to,” said Aziraphale.  “It’s not like you ‘should’ do anything. It’s up to you two.”

“Well,” said Angelo, fidgeting.  “I know that he wants to.  So I wanted to bring it up.”

“All right,” said Aziraphale, starting into his second glass.  “Well, do you…er…Well, how you do it depends on what sort of anatomy you have.”

“Anatomy?”

“What do you have down there?”

Angelo looked at him blankly.

“Your…Do have you have…ahh…an innie or an outie?”

Angelo lifted his shirt up slightly to look at his belly button.  Aziraphale took huge gulps of alcohol.

“Look,” said Aziraphale. “There’s no right or wrong way to do it. Just make sure you go slowly and stop if anything hurts.”

Poor Angelo had spent the past 6,000 years being completely mystified by the idea of sex; Aziraphale tried to make do with giving him tips, but what he really needed was some sort of “tab A goes into slot B” remedial primer.  He hadn’t the foggiest idea of how one was supposed to use their body parts.  But Aziraphale seemed rather embarrassed to be talking about it, and Angelo did not feel comfortable pushing him.  Aziraphale had been Angelo’s first choice because he did not have many friends, and he figured Aziraphale and Crowley would be the most likely to be able to help him on this matter.  He walked out disappointed because going slowly and stopping if anything hurt seemed intuitive enough, and he could have arrived at that on his own.

So if Aziraphale wouldn’t be of much use, who did that leave?  Truthfully, most of the angels Angelo knew had been Michael’s elite warriors. Most of them didn’t really engage in this sort of thing at all.  The one time he had seen them try to do so was when two of them had tried to engage Crowley without his consent, and even Angelo knew that was no way to go about things.

He also knew the clerical angels under the other archangels, but of course they wouldn’t know anything about this either.  Most of them had never even been incorporated.  That seemed to be the problem: generally there wasn’t any funny business in Heaven, but most of his contacts rarely left there.

He swallowed his pride and began to call the other principalities.  He had barely spoken to some of them, but he was desperate.

Olivia was first on his list.  She thought it was hysterical and spent at least a minute straight laughing while Angelo waited politely for her to finish, but when she did, she good-naturedly asked him what he had in his pants.

Angelo, a tad embarrassed, described it to her.

“Oh, you’ve got one of _those_ ,” said Olivia, sounding apologetic.  She further clarified that she and Oryss both were used to having vaginas and could not imagine how genitals like Angelo’s would figure into the equation.  Angelo thanked her and hung up.

Sylvia was next.  But Sylvia reported, even before asking Angelo anything about himself, that she and Adramelech didn’t have that type of relationship, and that Sylvia did not even know what Adramelech had in his pants. Angelo bit back a comment about being able to tell due to the tightness of the pants he wore, thanked her, and hung up.

He did not have much success in his successive tries.  He tried asking Kyleth, but she gave the same excuse as Olivia since she had only ever done things like this with Botis.  He called Paula and got his hopes up briefly when she informed him that she and Abraxas had the same combination of genitalia as him and Mykas, but apparently neither Paula nor Abraxas were interested in that sort of thing and, while they shared a bed, the most intimate thing they ever did was cuddle. She described it with a bit too much detail, and Angelo stayed on the line awkwardly until she was finished, then hung up.  Rosia was too shy to talk to him about it at all, which was disappointing because it sounded like she and Rava would have a lot to say about the matter, but he could not get anything out of her no matter how he wheedled and begged.

It continued in this way. He gave up part way through his list of field agents, resolving to try something else.

He could only think of one other person to ask.  He was petrified to do it.  But he wanted to do this.  He had to be brave.

So he got out his address book and flipped to the page with Maltha’s number written on it.  He could not force his hand to dial the number.

Even though she had told Angelo he was a friend, Maltha was still an archdemon and still the ruler of Hell. It was too intimidating.  

He flipped back to the page with Beth’s number on it.  That seemed a little safer.  He gave her a call.

“Hello?” said Beth’s voice. She was barely audible over the sound of growls and barking in the background.

“Beth?” said Angelo. “Goodness, is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” said Beth, sounding distract.  “That’s just my hellhound.”

“ _Hellhound?_ ”

“Yeah, Maltha finally caved and gave me one.  They were just so cute.  But he’s not a very good dog.”

“That’s kind of the point of hellhounds,” said Angelo.  “To not be a good dog.”

“Right,” said Beth. “Hang on a second, let me let him outside.”

A few moments later, the snarling had ceased and blessed silence fell on the other end of the line. “All right,” said Beth, returning. “Now, what was it you wanted to talk about, Angelo?”

“I was hoping I could ask you a…personal question.”

“Of course!  What is it?”

Angelo took a deep breath. Since that incident with the Nephilim, there were certain lines angels weren’t allowed to cross with humans, and he was half-afraid he would be struck dead the second the words left his lips. But this was still less scary than asking Maltha.

He put his hand to the receiver and whispered, almost too quietly to hear.

“Oh, sex?” said Beth, laughing a little.  “Of course I can tell you about that.  I’d imagine you don’t get much in the way of education on that in Heaven.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Angelo, flushing with relief.

“I assume you’re going to do it with Michael—Mykas, I mean?”

“Yes.  I think he would like it very much.”

“All right,” said Beth. “Well, there’s really no _wrong_ way to do it, although—I suppose I should just ask, since I made all kinds of assumptions about Maltha that turned out to be completely wrong.  What do you two, er….”

“Our genitals, you mean?” said Angelo.

“Yeah,” said Beth, sounding like she was blushing.  “You do have a...  Right?  Or...?”

Angelo put his hand to the receiver and whispered into it again.

“Oh,” said Beth, laughing again.  “Well, that’s easy.  Just make sure Mykas is nice and wet before you start.  If you do that, you probably won’t even need lube, although you should probably get some anyway just in case.”

“All right,” said Angelo, pulling out a writing tablet and taking notes.  He wrote:

_Lube_

_Wet??? (why?)_

“And there’s something else, too, the….sweet spot.  Near the top. Make sure you rub it plenty.  Lots of guys don’t even think about it during sex, but most women, er…people need stimulation there to get off.  But not too hard, cause it might be sensitive.”

His pen scratched out _Rub his top (???)_ and _Get off (???? off of what?)_   “All right.”

“Oh, and can he get pregnant?”

“Mykas certainly will not be getting pregnant!” Angelo blurted out.

“Well, I know, but you have to be safe, you know?  Does he…bleed? Out of there?”

“Oh,” said Angelo. “Yes.”

“Then he probably can. You’ll want to use a rubber, then.”

 _Safety: rubber,_ Angelo wrote. “All right.”

He could not keep the bewilderment out of his voice.  Beth misinterpreted this as eagerness.

“All right,” said Beth, taking on a conspiratorial tone.  “I can see you’re not satisfied with just that.  You don’t want just vanilla, is that it?”

Angelo was somewhat relieved that Beth was going to add clarification, but all she said was:

“Handcuffs.”

Angelo was silent a moment, thinking he had misheard her.  “Handcuffs?”

“I know, I know, Maltha was a bit skeptical at first, too.  But she loves them now. Oh God, don’t tell anyone I told you that.  She would be mortified if anyone found out.”

“But what are they for?” said Angelo.

“They just add an extra layer of eroticism to it, you know?  But make sure you use a safe word.”

Angelo wrote down _handcuffs_ and _safe word._  “All right.”

“You don’t have to,” said Beth, seeming to backtrack. “I mean, it’s not like _everyone_ likes it like that.  But just give it a try, you know?”

“All right,” said Angelo. “Thank you, Beth.”

“You…you can call me again if you have any more questions,” said Beth, sounding doubtful, as though she knew she had not done a very good job.

“Thank you, Beth,” Angelo repeated, hanging up.

* * *

It was time. Aziraphale’s shop was empty, and he had told Angelo he could use it.*

*Angelo had neglected to mention what for, which he suspected might have changed the answer, but Aziraphale had said he was “welcome to spend time with Mykas there” while he was away, so Angelo figured what Aziraphale didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Angelo planned a day out for them first, to set the mood.  They had lunch and then went for a walk in the park.  Mykas changed into his bestial form and entertained himself with chasing the ducks around.  

Human passersby had chastised Angelo for not keeping Mykas on a leash before, which had seemed awfully unfair to Angelo considering _Mykas_ was the one not wearing the leash.  But fewer people seemed to mind in the park.  In fact, a woman passing by, far from being angry with him, asked to pet Mykas.

“He’s so fluffy!” said the woman, stars in her eyes as Mykas trotted back over, tail wagging.

“Go ahead,” said Angelo. “He’ll love it.”

Mykas panted eagerly, tongue lolling.

“Oh, is he one of those great big dogs that think they’re a lap dog?” said the woman, bending down and making a kissy face at him.  “I had a Great Dane like that once.  Shame people still consider dogs like that dangerous.”  She put both hands behind Mykas’s head and started scratching.  “Who’s a good boy?  Who’s a good boy?”

She let go, and Mykas shook himself, then looked up at her.

“Who’s a good boy?”

He cocked his head.

“You are!”

“ _What?_ ” said Mykas.  “ _Me?_ ”

A few minutes later, Angelo sent the woman on her way with a foggy memory that she had pet a cute dog and nothing more.  “Mykas, you can’t keep doing that,” Angelo said.  “When you’re on Earth, you have to either act completely like a person, or completely like a dog.  Anything in between alarms the humans.”

Mykas whined.  “I’m sorry, Angelo.  I know.  I was just so excited to find out who the good boy was.”

“I know.”

“It was me.”

“I know.”

Mykas, not looking the least bit regretful, materialised a frisbee into his mouth and laid his head on Angelo’s lap.  “Hey, Angelo. Throw this frisbee for me.”

“What?” said Angelo. “No!”

“Aw.  Please?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

Angelo crossed his arms, embarrassed.  “It’s _weird._  Everyone thinks you’re my pet.”

Mykas snorted, then trotted away.  “Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

He shifted into human form, then hurled the frisbee with his full strength, which of course was quite a lot. The frisbee soared over the tree tops, whizzing away.  Mykas shifted back into dog form and sprinted after it.

Angelo watched him from the bench, feeling more anxious than he suspected he should have. He was glad Mykas was having a good time, but all Angelo could think about was his plans and how nervous he was.

Mykas eventually came back, having retrieved the toy from whatever distance he had thrown it.  “Everything all right?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Angelo.  “Are you having a good time?”

“Yeah!”

“Nice and relaxed?”

Mykas shifted back into human form and draped himself over the bench.  “Mmmm…yeah.”

“Would you like to go to Aziraphale’s shop now?”

“Oh, sure.”

They strolled arm-in-arm back to the shop.  Angelo locked the door behind them.  “Why don’t we go in the back room?”

“Okay,” said Mykas.

There was a couch there, which seemed sufficient, because Angelo had a hazy idea that sex was easier lying down.  Angelo took him back to the back room, upon the table wherein he had placed an assortment of objects earlier that day: A glass of water, a pink eraser from the stationery store, a pair of handcuffs, and a bottle of engine lubrication from the auto parts store.

“What’s this?” said Mykas, eyeing the table.

“Mykas,” said Angelo, taking his hands.  “Do you remember what you said on that trip to Earth in 554BC when we saw those two lads holding hands in Greece?’

Mykas’s tail began to wag under his heavy jacket.

“I think we’re ready now.  Would you like to have sex?”

“Sure,” said Mykas. “That sounds grand.  Except I don’t really know how.”

“Don’t worry,” said Angelo. “I asked someone who knows what they’re doing for pointers.”

“All right,” said Mykas. “So how do we start?”

Angelo had a vague notion that sex was supposed to happen with one’s clothes off.  “We should get undressed.”

They did so.  Mykas shivered a little.  Angelo wished Aziraphale had kept the heat up a little more.

“All right,” said Angelo. “We should use a safe word.  I picked ‘breastplate,’ because that seems like something that’s pretty safe.  But we can use a different word if you like.”

“Breastplate,” Mykas repeated.

“All right,” said Angelo, feeling like everything was going pretty smoothly.  He went over to the table and picked up the eraser.  “We need to use this so you don’t get pregnant.”

Mykas eyed the eraser doubtfully.  “Must we?”

“Yes,” said Angelo. “We have to be safe.”

“Breastplate.”

“Right.”

Mykas took the eraser with a mournful expression and took a bite out of it, swallowing distastefully. Even Angelo, who hadn’t had the faintest idea of how to use the rubber, had a feeling that wasn’t the right way.

“Safety,” said Mykas.

“Right,” said Angelo. “Er…” He picked up the glass of water next and tossed it onto Mykas.

Mykas looked surprised and wiped his face with a hand.  “And what was that for?”

“I have to make sure you’re nice and wet before we go any further.  But I also brought some lube in case that wasn’t enough.”

“All right,” said Mykas, who sounded like his excitement was fading.

Angelo figured it was time for the next step.  He grabbed the handcuffs.

“And what are those for?”

“They add an extra layer of eroticism.”

Mykas _oooh_ ed and let Angelo put a cuff on his wrist. Angelo snapped the other one on his own wrist.

“This _is_ pretty erotic,” Mykas admitted.  Mykas did not actually know what the word _erotic_ meant.

“All right,” said Angelo, waving their conjoined hands together in the air.  “So far so good.  The lube must be in case we lose the key and need to slip out of the cuffs.”

“Makes sense.”

“All right. Now I need to find your sweet spot.”

“My sweet spot?”

“It’s near the top.” Angelo took his free hand and began to rub Mykas’s head.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” said Mykas.

Angelo was determined to do it right.  He continued to rub around until his hand was scratching behind one of Mykas’s canine ears. The archdemon closed his eyes and leaned into the rubbing. He looked like he was enjoying it.  But Angelo was not sure if that was what Beth had meant.  Sweating, he tried to figure out when their genitals entered the equation.

That was how Crowley found them when he walked in, both naked and handcuffed together, with Angelo scratching Mykas’s ear.  Crowley hadn’t been paying attention to the time and didn’t know Aziraphale wouldn’t be home, and he walked into the back room, took one look at that strange scene, and then walked back out.

He walked back in a second later after processing what he had seen.  “No, no, no.  What are you doing? What the hell are you two doing?”

“We’re having sex,” said Angelo.

“Which requires _privacy,_ ” said Mykas pointedly.  “So I think it’d be best if you left.”

Crowley sighed and smacked his forehead.  “Why in the hell are you trying to do it like this?”

“I asked an expert, and this is what she recommended,” said Angelo defensively.

Crowley looked at the eraser and knew what had happened.  “Let me guess….was it Beth?”

“Er, well yes,” said Angelo.

“Americans,” said Crowley. It was a curse the way he said it. He looked over at the WD40 that Angelo had gotten for lube.  “All right, all right, I was hoping to avoid this, but it’s obvious that you’re going to hurt yourselves if I leave you to figure it out on your own.  I’ll help you.”

“Oh, will you, Crowley?” said Mykas.  “Oh, thank you!”

“All right,” said Crowley. “Take those off.”

They removed the handcuffs.

“Now.  I guess I should ask if you know the …er… basics?”

They looked at him blankly.

“I can’t imagine anyone gets up to much hanky-panky in Heaven, and you haven’t been down here that long.  Do you know what is supposed to happen during sex?”

“Something good, I bet,” said Mykas.

“Generally one person…er…inserts a body part into the other.”

They both looked at him skeptically.

“What?” said Angelo. “That doesn’t seem right.”

Crowley took a deep breath. “Look, will you both put your clothes on until I’m done talking?”

They did so.

“Now,” said Crowley. “All right.  Remedial sex-ed.  Here we go. Angelo, you know how sometimes your…thing…”

“My thing?”

“Your shaft.”

“Shaft.”

“Your cock. Your member. Your penis.”

“Oh, that.”

“Sometimes it will get….stiff?”

“Yes.”

“That’s for sex.”

“That’s for sex?” said Angelo, bewildered.  “I always thought it was a malfunction in my corporation.  I just got rid of it through miracles.”

“You’ve been _miracling your erections away_ for the past 6,000 years?”

Angelo shuffled his feet.

“All right, whatever, don’t worry about it.  Mykas, you know how sometimes your…parts.  Your V.”

“My V?”

“Your vagina.”

“Is that next to my uterus?”

“Yes, somewhere around there.  You know how sometimes it’ll feel tingly and start to stain your undergarments?”

“I had always assumed that was my uterus acting up again,” said Mykas.  “Raphael told me sometimes it leaks.”

“Mykas,” said Crowley. “Did you just blame everything you didn’t understand on your uterus since you got your corporation?”

“Maybe,” said Mykas evasively.

“Do you remember that one time you got the hiccups?” said Angelo.  “I told you that was your uterus.”

“ _Hiccups_ are not attributable to the uterus,” said Crowley hastily.

“So hiccups aren’t for sex?”

“No!”  Crowley smacked his forehead.  “Honestly what do they _teach_ you about human bodies up there?”

“Nothing, mostly,” said Angelo.

“It shows.”

“Why don’t you stay and show us, Crowley?” said Mykas, delivering the most innocent proposal for a threesome anyone had ever managed.

“N-no!” said Crowley, blushing.  “I mean--goddammit.  Don’t make this any more awkward than it has to be.  Let’s go to the drugstore and get you some proper lubricant before you go at it.  I won’t have either of you melting your parts off with this stuff.  And maybe we can find some reference materials online.  I thought I saw Aziraphale taking notes on a program in a hotel once...”


	5. Be Sure to Like, Comment, And Subscribe If You Want To See More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165599534920/your-own-side-outtake-5-be-sure-to-like

Adramelech was gaining weight.

Sylvia could not figure out why.  It was one of the many things she had noticed about her demonic companion since they had moved in together.

Back up a little. Sylvia and Adramelech had moved in together.  It was a relatively recent development, one that Sylvia had mixed feelings about.

Sylvia herself had been the one to suggest it, saying that they could save money by sharing a flat, and she regretted it as soon as Adramelech accepted.  Because now she had to confront her feelings, which didn’t make much sense to her.

Sure, Adramelech loved her, but he _loved_ her in the same way that he _loved_ their dog Paprika and his friend Aziraphale.  He _loved_  a lot of things.  He was just kind of that way.  And Sylvia was starting to think that maybe she loved Adramelech, but _not_ in the same way that she loved their dog Paprika.

Which was something she was not pleased to have to suddenly start wrestling with herself about. Because even if she made up her mind, she was sure Adramelech would not reciprocate her feelings. And now she had to stand seeing him every morning with his hair mussed up from sleep, sleepily padding into the kitchen and offering to cook her breakfast…

They had separate bedrooms. Adramelech had not seemed to care either way, but Sylvia had insisted on that point.  It was a good thing they had gone that route, though, because their flat also came with two bathrooms, and another thing she had discovered about her companion was that he spent at least three solid hours in the bathroom each day, if not more.

Usually one solid hour of that was luxuriating in the bathtub.  He came home every week with different concoctions for the bath, one of which was, alarmingly, named a bomb. When she saw what color the bathtub was after the water had drained, she understood the name.

And then there was the hair and makeup.  Adramelech had an entire closet full of things that looked like torture instruments for beating his hair into shape. He had a flat iron for when it was too curly, and when it was too flat, he had a curling iron.  He had shampoos and sprays to make it less volumous when it took up too much space, and when it didn’t take up enough, he had volumising shampoos and sprays to make it take up more.  And his beard.  He had a kit the size of a toolbox full of scissors and tweezers and trimmers of every conceivable shape and size for his facial hair.  Sometimes he spent an hour meticulously plucking his eyebrows out, only to draw them back on with what looked like a pencil. He bought makeup that was the exact same shade of brown as his skin tone and put it all over his face before beginning any of his makeup, and his face always looked exactly the same with or without it.

There was so much makeup. Sylvia wanted to suggest to him to start buying it in gallon drums instead of those tiny palettes the store gave him.

And the most amazing thing to Sylvia was that Adramelech did not grow bored of it, ever.  Each new compact case was met with the same enthusiasm as the last few thousand. Each new eyeshadow had endless possibilities. And sometimes when he was upset, he could go buy a new and exciting color and feel better.  Sometimes Sylvia could tell the difference between it and the colors he already had, and sometimes she could not.

It was baffling to her. For a while after she had been incorporated, Sylvia had been afraid to try any of these aspects of making up one’s appearance because she thought it would be considered vanity.  But she had gotten over it eventually, and had tried putting on makeup and shaving her legs, and she hadn’t liked it at all.  She stuck to simpler trappings from then on.

Sometimes Adramelech even sat in front of the computer, recording himself putting on makeup and narrating what he was doing as though he were explaining it to someone else. That part she did not understand most of all, but Adramelech had always been a bit….strange, so she did not bother him about it.

“Come on!” Sylvia would shout, banging on the bathroom door a few minutes after they had been scheduled to leave for some event.  “We’re going to be late!”  And Adramelech would always say he wasn’t done with some aspect of his preening routine, which he estimated would take another five minutes and invariably took at least fifteen.

Sylva had simply gotten into the habit of telling him they had to leave about half an hour earlier than they actually did, which usually got them there on time.

But back to the first thing. Adramelech had been gaining weight, and Sylvia could not imagine why. He ate like…well, like a bird.  Sylvia was not sure to exactly what extent a demon’s eating habits correlated with the feeding habits of their animal form, but she had never seen Crowley swallow a mouse or Maltha begin to peck at birdseed, so she had no way of knowing.  But Adramelech had always eaten very lightly and consequently had always been rather skinny.

One day she could hear Adramelech getting upset about how his favourite pair of purple jeans no longer fit him, and she offered to take him clothes shopping, which she regretted after it ended up taking about six hours.  He fretted about how he had gone up a pants size.

“That’s no big deal,” Sylvia told him.  “Goodness knows we don’t have to worry about our health.  And it’s not like you’re the only one.  You’re still much smaller than Aziraphale.”

Adramelech did not seem convinced, saying it was all well and good when _Aziraphale_ was fat, but Adramelech had a different image to maintain.

“For _whom?_ ” said Sylvia incredulously.  “Adra, don’t worry about it.”

Sylvia would find her answers soon enough, but not in the way she expected.

It happened one day when Adramelech was doing that strange thing, talking to his computer while putting on makeup. When Sylvia brought him a mug of lemonade, he pulled her into view of the screen and said excitedly, “Hey, everyone look who it is! It’s Sylvia!”

“Adramelech, _who_ are you talking to?” said Sylvia, a bit alarmed.

“Oh, I can edit you out if you don’t want to be in the video,” said Adramelech, beginning to brush some of his foundation onto Sylvia’s face.  She scrunched up under the attempts at beautification, sipping her own lemonade in between strokes.

“You’re making a video?”

“Yes. I’m showing everyone how to blend this new highlighter I just got.”

She looked down at the smattering of makeup on the table.  “…and why are you doing that?” she said, feeling completely lost.

Adramelech blushed.  “Er. To inspire vanity.”

“Vanity?”

“Vanity is my favourite mortal sin.”

"...Mm-hmm.”  She took another sip.  “And who exactly are you showing? Who is ‘everyone’?”

“My Instagram followers, mostly,” said Adramelech.  “Although my YouTube channel has been getting more subscribers.”

“People go online just to watch you do your makeup?”

“You’d be surprised how humans eat it up. One of my Instagram posts was shared to tumblr and it’s got over ten thousand notes.”

A few rapid clicks pulled up a blue website on his screen.  Sylvia looked at it without understanding much.

“This person called you their ‘gender-nonconforming husband,’” said Sylvia.  “You’re not _really_ married to them, are you?”

“I’ve never met her, actually.  And I’m not really sure what that word means.”

“Adramelech, how many of these videos have you _made_?” said Sylvia, taking control of the mouse and scrolling down his YouTube page.

“I make one every week,” said Adramelech.

“…all right,” said Sylvia. “And people go online to watch them?”

“Yes.”

“But why do you put them up? Just for fun?”

“Vanity.”

“Adramelech, I’ve never seen you put this much work into anything.  That can’t be the only reason.”

“Well, I do get paid…”

“What?  How?  YouTube is free, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but there’s ad revenue.”

“How much?”

“Ummm….”

“ _How much?_ ”

Adramelech pulled up his bank account and showed her.

“Adramelech!  Every time I go to pay the electric bill you tell me you don’t have any money! What are you spending this all on?”

“Er, well, some of it is for more makeup, and some on stuff for the bath…”

“And the rest of it…?”

“Look, have you ever been to Lush?” said Adramelech.  “That stuff isn’t cheap.”

“Adramelech!  There’s no way you spent all of this on cosmetics!”

“All right,” said Adramelech, sorrowfully.  “You caught me.  I didn’t spend it all on cosmetics.”

“What?” said Sylvia. “Then on what?”

He shame-facedly evacuated the computer chair and led her into his bedroom.

“Please don’t judge me, Sylvia,” he said, weeping.  “This is so embarrassing.”

“What?” said Sylvia, growing alarmed.  “What is it?”

Adramelech put his hand on the knob to his closet.  “You don’t understand what it’s like being a demon.  You get…urges!”

“Urges?” said Sylvia. “Adramelech, I swear to God, what have you got in this closet?”

Adramelech chickened out at the last second. Sylvia wrestled past him to pull the closet open.

A cascade of plastic sacks came tumbling out, falling over each other with a rattling noise.

Sylvia blinked at what had come out of the closet.  “Is this… birdseed?”

Adramelech wrung his hands.

“You were hiding fifty kilos of birdseed in the closet because you didn’t want me to see you eating it?”

Adramelech dramatically threw his hands over his face and fell backwards into the plastic sacks, sprawling out among them.  “It’s not even the healthy kind!” he sobbed.  “It’s the kind they tell you not to feed to ducks because it’ll make them overweight.  It’s just so good!”

Sylvia’s face turned red as she suppressed a laugh.  Adramelech’s feathers flared out.  “It’s not funny, Sylvia!  I know I have a problem!”

“The only _problem_ is that you won’t help me pay the electric bill,” said Sylvia.  “Come on, Adra.  Stop being so melodramatic. I don’t care if you eat birdseed.”

“Really?” Adramelech sniffled.

“Of course.  It’s going to take a little more than that to drive me off.  You’re stuck with me, weirdo.”

Adramelech brightened.  “I can always count on you, Sylvia.”


	6. The Silent Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165600808755/outtake-6-the-silent-grave

It was dark and stormy. It was not night, but sometimes the day is dark and stormy as well.  You take what you can get.  Dark and stormy nights have to have a day after them, after all.

There was a demon moving among the bleak and dreary landscape, following the trail of vultures circling in the sky. He was everything a demon was supposed to be.  He was ugly.  He was intimidating. He was clad in spiked black armor.  He was atop an enormous black stallion that struck sparks as its hooves beat against the ground. And he was covered in the blood of an angel he had killed.

The blood was dried, because it was from the day before; he had not had the opportunity to clean his armor.  But the rain drizzling down onto him was wetting it again, making it run in streams down his body as though it were fresh.  He felt it weighing on him physically and wished desperately to be rid of it.

He pulled the reins of his horse up to stop as he came to the epicenter of the vultures. The birds were feeding on a body on the ground, face-down and half hidden in the mud.

His heavy boots splattered mud everywhere as he dismounted, and he chased the birds off with an angry yell and a few waves. The rain continued to wash over the body, making trails from the guts exposed by the scavengers' pecking.

The demon knelt down by the body, gently sliding his hands under it.  He turned it over and wiped the mud off the face.  The eyes were glassy and stared straight at the sky. The stab wound that had been the killing blow had grown dramatically in size from the scavengers.

The demon had been half-hoping the angel would still be alive, against all reason.  He knew the angel would be dead.  The angel had been dead yesterday. But he had still hoped, and he was still disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” said the demon, brushing a hand against the angel’s frozen face gently.  “I’m so, so sorry.  You didn’t deserve to die.  I don’t know why I did this.  I’m so sorry, sister.”

“Botis.”

The demon took his hands off the body and stood up ramrod straight at the sound of his comrade calling his name.  Another demon appeared, clambering over the hill to join him.

“That’s the one you killed yesterday, innit?” said the newcomer.

“Yeah,” said Botis, with forced joviality, hating himself with every fibre of his being.

The other demon spit on the body.  “Hey, why don’t we hang this up in the tree in case anyone comes looking for that missing unit?  Give them an idea of what they missed.”

“Er,” said Botis. “Why don’t we just leave it here? The vultures were going at it pretty good.”

“…all right,” said the other demon.  “Then what were you doing back here?”

“I was….er….checking if she had anything in her pockets.”

“Good thinking,” said the other demon, nudging him with her elbow.  “If it’s got a few drachma in its pocket we can get the field agent here to get us some alcohol.  Anything?”

“Er, no, not really,” said Botis.

“Mmm.  Too bad.”  She began to jog back in the direction from which she had come.  “Come on, then.  Duke Jezebel was asking where you had gone.  She didn’t want to move the unit out until everyone was collected, but there’s a group of angels a few dozen miles north we’re supposed to ambush at night fall.  At least ten times as many as there were yesterday.  I’m sure you’ll get more than just one kill under your belt this time.”

The other demon disappeared, moving ahead under the assumption Botis was following her.

Botis was not following her. He was still standing by the body, looking at it.  All he could imagine was how awful it was going to feel doing this again.  Having to feel that blood get all over him again. Having to listen to another angel choke out dying words, another “Heaven will punish you, fiend,” as its body heaved against his blade.  And he was going to have to do it over and over and over because he was an infernal warrior and infernal warriors were big and strong and felt nothing but delight in the pain of others.

Tears began to well in his eyes.

The other demon peeked her head back over the ridge.  “Botis, are you coming?  What’s the hold up?”

Botis knelt in the mud and scooped up the dead angel’s empty corporation.  The vultures that had assembled to return to their meal upon his absence scattered with indignant squawks as he moved through them.

“Botis, what are you doing?” said the other demon.

Botis threw the body onto his horse and swung up into the saddle, holding it steady with one hand.

The other demon slid back down towards him.  “What are you going to do with that?”

“Fuck off,” Botis hissed as his horse galloped off.

No warrior demon could really be said to be _good_ with words, but Botis was drafting a letter in his head as he rode away from his companions, something to convince the higher-ups his real talents lie somewhere other than warrior work.

* * *

“Botis!”

The flat was dark as Kyleth came into it.  She let out a sigh.  Her feet hurt from being out all day, and she still had a huge to-do list of Heavenly chores before she would feel all right about stopping to rest for the night.

She set her vinyl bags down in the entryway and tried to find the light switch with her hand.

Another hand came out of the darkness and stopped hers, and Botis’s toothy visage appeared from the living room.

Kyleth was not proud to admit that sometimes Botis still startled her when she was not expecting him. He had the sort of face that made your first reflex be to strike preemptively.  It was all she could do to not let him see her reaction.

Botis’s jowls stretched into a fang-laden smile.  “Leave the lights off.”

“Um…Okay,” said Kyleth. “Why?”

Botis removed her hand from the wall and led her into the dining room, where the table was lit softly by candles.  He pulled a chair out for her.

“What’s all this?” said Kyleth as she seated herself.

“Wait right there,” said Botis, disappearing into the kitchen.

He returned a few moments later with a literal silver platter, which he set in front of her.

“Here you are,” he said. “Steak tartare and a bolognese on the side.”

“Oh,” said Kyleth. “Thank you so much. This is my favourite.”

Botis sat in the chair across from her and just sat there watching her eat.

“Don’t you want something, too?” said Kyleth, a bit guiltily.

“I’m not really hungry,” he said.

“Oh.”

“And Kyleth, I did all those things on your list for tonight.  So you can just relax and take your time.”

“Oh my,” said Kyleth. “Th-thank you.  But what’s all this for?”

“It’s a special day.”

Kyleth’s fork paused halfway to her mouth.  “It is?”

“You don’t remember?” said Botis, sounding dismayed.

Kyleth swallowed.  She had never been very good with dates. “I forgot something, didn’t I?”

“It’s your birthday!”

“My…birthday?”

“Well, your corporation day.”

“Botis.”

“Six-thousand years ago you stepped into this world.  I had to, er, figure out how it would translate from the old calendar, and lo and behold!  It fell on today!”

“Botis, how could you _possibly_ remember what day it was?”

“Don’t you remember? I ran into you, and you were struggling with staying upright.  ‘This damn thing is too small for me,’ you said. ‘One day in it and I’m already sick of feeling like I’m suffocating in here.’  We met on your first day here on Earth.”

The memory was fuzzy for Kyleth, eroded by time.  She smiled at him and patted his hand.  “You have a very good memory.  And you’re very sweet.  Thank you.”

Botis beamed.

“You know,” said Kyleth lecherously.  “All this talk about you doing my work and serving me hand and foot has put me in a mood.”

“Oooh, is that so?” said Botis.

They flirted until Kyleth was done eating.  Botis insisted on cleaning up the dishes before doing anything else, which had the exact effect he had been hoping for:  Kyleth badgered him to hurry up, standing behind him pressed into him and getting handsy under his clothes.

“What an impatient Heavenly warrior,” said Botis, setting the last plate into the strainer.

“You’re just delaying your fate.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s my fate?”

“I’m going to make you all mine.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’ll have to make me, first.”

“Oooh.”

They moved into the bedroom.  They had a brief discussion about which of them should dom, then eventually decided on Kyleth, since it was her birthday and all.

“Do you want to get the strap-on?” said Kyleth.

Botis rushed to dig into the crate under the bed and prepare himself.  Then, he sat on the bed.

“Are you ready?” said Kyleth.

“Green light,” said Botis.

Kyleth hopped onto the bed and flared her wings out, grabbing Botis and trying to shove him into a supine position. The demon giggled and wrestled with her to stay upright.

“You thought you could hide from the retribution of Heaven, demon?” said Kyleth.  “Your armies are vanquished and the battle lost.  You have no one to save you.  Botis, you’re supposed to let me win, remember?”

“Sorry.”

Botis tumbled backwards with Kyleth on top of him.  His head slammed into the headboard.

“Yellow.”

“Sorry,” said Kyleth, making her grip more gentle, and letting him wiggle back away from the headboard.

“Green light.”

“Divine justice has found you at last, vile creature.  Stop snickering.  Prisoners of war don’t snicker.”

“Make me stop.”

“Maybe I will.”

“In the clutches of my dreaded enemy, the powerful Heavenly warrior who has so thwarted me the last six millenia!” said Botis, throwing a hand over his face dramatically.  “I’m finally beaten.  I’m totally at her mercy.”

“I could do whatever I want to you right now.”

“I am completely helpless.”

“I warn you, I’m not merciful.”

“Do your worst!”

“Spread your legs, prisoner.”

Botis began to writhe under her hand as she rubbed him.  She leaned over him, kissing his chest.  “This is the end of the line for you.  Finally, Heaven will punish you, fiend.”

Botis become unresponsive under her.

“Botis?”

“I…”

“Use the stoplight.”

“Red light. Red. Red red red.”

She got off him. He had a distressed look on his face as he levered himself upright.

“What’s wrong?  Did I do something?”

“It…um…just got a little too real,” said Botis, drawing his legs against his chest.

Kyleth crawled over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “I’m sorry.  What was it? Do you want to talk about it?”

Botis’s lip quavered before he exploded, “I never told you, but I killed someone! I killed an angel, Kyleth!  Not just discorporated!  Dead!  Permanently!”

Kyleth let him finish his outburst, then squeezed his shoulder.  “Botis, when you told me you had been a warrior, I kind of figured it had involved that.  You don’t have to act like it’s a big secret.”

“What?”

“That’s why you became a field agent, isn’t it?  Because you hated killing?  I already knew.”

He wiped his eye. “Oh.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she prompted.

He sniffled.  “Those were the angel’s last words.  ‘Heaven will punish you, fiend.’  When you said them, I couldn’t stop seeing her face.”

“Oh.  I’m sorry.  I wouldn’t have said that if I had known.”

“How can you be so casual about this?” said Botis.  “She’s _dead._  Dead forever, because of me.”

“Botis,” said Kyleth sternly.  “You can’t do this.”

“This?”

“Keep beating yourself up about it.  It was six thousand years ago.”

“And she’s been dead for all six thousand of them!”

“Botis, you didn’t know any better.  It’s not like you had much choice about it.  You value life.  I know you wouldn’t kill anyone now unless you had a very good reason for it.”

“I keep wishing someone would come seek vengeance against me for her.  But there’s no one.  This was back when all-out fights still happened regularly.  We wiped out her entire unit.  Dead, all of them, left to rot.  My fault.”

“Botis, do you remember that time in Gomorrah when you pulled me out of that burning building?  Does that sound like something a killer would do?”

“Kyleth. It could have been you!  If you had just showed up a little earlier, it could have been you!  I could have killed you without even knowing what I was doing!”

“Listen,” said Kyleth. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.  But it can’t be helped.  It’s already happened, and you’ve dealt with it as best as you can.  There’s no point in letting it eat at you.”

Botis looked down, seemingly not convinced.

“Is there anything I can do? We could do together?”

Botis did not respond.

“Botis?”

“…Would you like to meet her?”

* * *

It took two plane rides and a three-hour hike to reach their destination, but Botis had the route memorised. He led them up a grassy hill into an overgrown field.  There was one patch in that field that was cleared of vegetation, a small open patch with a worn stone sitting in the middle of it.

Botis entered the patch and sat cross-legged in front of the stone. It looked like there had been writing carved into it at one point, but it was indistinguishable under the wear.

Kyleth sat next to him, looking at the stone.

“I buried her here,” said Botis.

Kyleth put a hand on his knee.

“Do you remember that angel I told you about?” said Botis to the stone.  “The one that was so strong and beautiful?  This is her.”

“Hello,” said Kyleth.

The grave, predictably, did not respond.

“I wish I knew who she was,” said Botis.  “I didn’t know anything about her.  What was she like?  Who were her friends?  I don’t even know her name to write it on the headstone.”

Kyleth looked around at the field, where purple flowers had been planted in a ring around the clearing. “I think she would appreciate this.”

“Really?”

“I think she’d forgive you, Botis.”

Botis got up and walked over to the stone, laying a hand on it gently.  “There’s no way to know.  But I hope you’re right.”

They each left a flower on the grave before they left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This scene provides context for Botis’s interaction with Duke Jezebel in Falling Hazard chapter 12


	7. The Nephilim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165639434975/your-own-side-outtake-7-the-nephilim

_AN:  I ended up scrapping this scene unfinished, but the beginning is based on a series of events of police abuse of indigenous people in Canada.  It involved police offers arresting someone, taking them far out of town, and leaving them to try and walk home and probably freeze to death.  These were dubbed the “Starlight Tours” and thankfully at least some of the officers involved in the practice were convicted and the problem brought to light. If you want to read more about it, here are some links_

[Link 1](https://www.hrw.org/news/2017/06/19/submission-government-canada-police-abuse-indigenous-women-saskatchewan-and-failures)   [Link 2](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saskatoon_freezing_deaths)

_There’s no beginning to this scene because I never wrote it, so it starts pretty abruptly, but the narrator here is a fictional native woman with a child trying to survive a “Starlight Tour.”  Part of the reason why I scrapped this scene was because I realized I was a bit out of my depth, so if I’ve made any errors in this portrayal, please let me know._

* * *

Something moved in the snow.

She froze.

No, it was not her imagination.  There was a shape moving towards her, indistinct among the howling wind driving the snow.

She stood where she was, clutching her child, afraid.

The shape resolved itself into a man.  The first thing about him that struck her as strange was that he was wearing silver armor with an impressive sword hanging at his side. The second thing was that the snow seemed to be moving around him, as though there was a little bubble keeping him safe from the weather; there was no accumulation on him at all.  And thirdly, he was moving away from town instead of towards it.

Hurit had never been religious, but she knew in her heart, the second she saw him, that this man was an angel.  He had to be.

Shivering, she watched as the man stopped in front of her.  The wind continued to whip at her exposed hair, while his stayed perfectly still.

The man smiled.  “Yo.”

She blinked at him.

“Yo?” he said. “What’s up?  What’s shaking?”

She did not respond.

He sighed. “Whatever.  I’m here to take her.”

Hurit looked down at her child, then back to the man.  “Take her?”

“She’ll be safe with me. I’ll take her back to town.”

She was fated to die here by some higher authority.  Hurit saw that now.  Because the angel wanted to take her child off of her.  She’d be safe with him.  Away from Hurit.

“You promise?” said Hurit tearfully.  “You promise she’ll survive?  That she’ll get to grow up?”

“Yes.  I can promise you that.  That’s my entire job.  And I don’t half-ass anything.”

“Her name is Alawa,” said Hurit.

The angel smiled again. “I know.”

“Of course,” said Hurit. “Of course you’d know.  Then, here. Take her.”

Hurit handed her off. And she watched as her daughter’s frostbite began to fade the second she was within the little bubble surrounding him, and she knew in her heart her daughter would survive, and he was telling the truth.

“All right,” said Hurit. “Okay.  Now I can die in peace.”

The angel turned and started to walk away. Hurit fell to her knees, numbness overtaking her, crying, because even though her one wish for her daughter’s safety had been fulfilled, dying was still a lot to take in.

The angel stopped.  Hurit looked up at him.

He turned back, looking at her.  She returned his gaze.  He was too far away to be heard over the wind.

“I’m not allowed to take you, too,” he said.  “Gabriel was quite clear.  My instructions were to take the child only.”

Hurit didn’t respond.

He turned around and started slogging back to her through the snow.  “She’s going to go to a family that just recently lost a child.  Heaven has big plans for her.  I can’t question that.  I have to fulfill my orders.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

The angel stood there with Alawa in one arm, looking at her hesitantly.

“I could get in big trouble if I took you back,” said the angel.  “Ineffability and all that.”

Hurit put her arms around herself miserably.  “Are you waiting for me to give you my blessing to leave me here to die? Because yeah, thanks for taking her to safety, but I’m not going to do that.  I’ll die with anger in my heart.  I don’t care about higher powers or gods or spirits.  You have the power to save me, but you won’t.  And I won’t forgive you, because it’s cruel no matter the reason.  So just go.”

The angel grimaced. Then, he shuffled over, and Hurit saw his little bubble expand outwards, as though it were defined by an invisible wing being extended towards her.

Blessed warmth flooded through her from head to toe.

“Come on,” said the angel. “It’s five miles to town.  I’ll get us there safely.”

She sniffled, trying to maintain her dignity.  “Thank you.”

“I’m a lot of things,” said the angel.  “But I’m not cruel.  And you’re not going to die if I can help it.”

* * *

His muscles still ached from the fight against Gabriel.  But oh, had it been worth it.

He returned home to find that Hurit still had the house fortified, just as he had asked.

“Hurit!” Vincent said, pounding on the door.  The spellwork was so heavy he had to bang on it like it was made of steel.  “It’s me!  I’m back!”

She would be struggling with the chalk circles right about now.  He could picture it.

His corporation felt extraordinarily heavy as he stood there waiting to enter. Finally, the curtain of wards drew back, and he opened the door and stepped inside.

The fortifications came back up behind him.  He stood in the living room nervously, feeling like it had been forever since he had been here.

“Vinny!” said a tiny voice, accompanied by the sound of bare feet pattering towards him.  A little girl in a pink nightgown came running around the corner with her hands thrown up in the air.

“Hey, baby bear!” said Vincent, kneeling down and reaching out to her.

He caught her and threw her up into the air.  “Vinny’s back!” she said, giggling.  “Vinny! Vinny!”

“Okay, maybe don’t pull on Vinny’s wings like that, baby,” said Vincent, wincing at the steely grip of the enthusiastic hands.  “He’s been having trouble with feather loss.”

Hurit came around the corner, her movements laboured.  “Look at you,” said Vincent breathlessly.  “You’ve gotten so big.”

Hurit laughed, hand on her stomach.  “Just what every woman wants to hear.”

“You’re so beautiful,” said Vincent, dumbfounded.

Hurit rubbed his shoulders. Or tried to, because he was still wearing his armor.  “So how did it go?  Did you save the Earth and all that?  Exactly like you wanted to?”

Vincent grinned widely and gave her two thumbs up.

“Did you get hurt at all?”

“I did get stabbed through the gut,” said Vincent.

“ _What?_ ” said Hurit.  “Oh no! Are you all right?  Are you supposed to be on your feet?”

Vincent plopped down onto the couch, undoing the straps of his armor.  “Oh, it’s not a big deal.  We had a healer with us.  I was able to get back in the fight in no time.  It hurt more emotionally than physically.  My assailant was someone I had fought alongside before.”

“Oh no,” said Hurit. “But you’re really not hurt?”

Vincent stood and put his forehead to hers. “I’m fine.  And we’re all safe now.  I told you, I don’t half-ass anything.”

“Gods and spirits,” said Hurit, plopping down on the couch.  “I don’t want to know the details.”

Vincent sprawled out next to her.  “And how are _you?”_

“I had an ultrasound while you were gone.”

“That’s great!” said Vincent.  “That’s awesome!  That’s wonderful!  What’s that?”

“We got to see the baby!” said the child bouncing around Hurit’s knees.

“We took a picture of the baby,” said Hurit. “Do you want to see it?”

Vincent nodded vigorously.

Hurit dug out a grainy black and white photo and showed it to him.  Vincent looked from the photo to Hurit’s already existing child, as if trying to figure out how one might turn into the other.

“I don’t understand,” said Vincent.  “This little peanut is a child?”

Hurit laughed.  “She’s still very small, Vinny.  She’ll get bigger.”

Vincent began to tear up. “Oh.  That’s wonderful.”

“And there’s something else. Here, look.”  She moved her finger to a point on the photo.  “Look.”

“She…” said Vincent.

“She has wings,” said Hurit, with a sparkle in her eye.


	8. The Further Misadventures of Maltha and Beth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165675282720/your-own-side-outtake-8-the-further

 

_AN:  Since I know none of you chuckleheads remember who tf Lirach is, might i recommend going back to Aziraphale’s Legion chapter 4 and doing a ctrl+f for her name if you wanna remember._

_Second AN:  This outtake provides context for Beth’s comment about “that night we spent together looking up at the stars” in Aziraphale’s Legion chapter 12._

_Third AN:  It was Easter when I wrote this, so  ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯   And if you’ve never stuck a Peep in a microwave, it’s an experience I highly recommend trying at least once._

* * *

 

“You like that?  You like that, don’t you? Yeah…”

In general, the attention Lirach lavished on her 1932 Cadillac V-16 bordered on manic.  It was a bright, sunny day, and she had decided to give the car a good wash, even though it had been painstakingly polished and waxed by hand a mere three days ago. The care with which she polished the hull of her precious car was unsettling to some passersby.

Lirach had not yet met Crowley at this point, but the truth was when she did she would think that he didn’t take _good enough_ care of his car.  She insisted on doing everything by hand.   _Her_  car’s engine would run under human hands, without miracles.  She even put gas in it, and not just to get goodies from the gas station.

She had bought it in a time when presenting as female meant people assumed you don’t drive. And it had had one owner since then, and that was Lirach.

Lirach’s angelic counterpart, an introverted, neurotic individual by the name Devi, did not understand a single thing about Lirach.

“Why don’t you just fly?” was the first question out of Devi’s lips when she saw the V-16 for the first time.

“Why don’t you just pay someone else to do that?” Devi had asked when she saw Lirach washing it by hand for the first time.

“Why don’t you just use a miracle?” Devi had said the first time Lirach had pumped gas into the car with Devi in the passenger’s seat.

Lirach would always smile gnomically and tell her it was better this way.  Devi did not understand it at all. There were a lot Devi did not understand about Lirach.  But most of all she did not understand…

“Why didn’t you tell me there was an archdemon coming into town?” Devi said, interrupting Lirach’s session with her car and scaring the hell out of her.

“Wh-what do you mean?” said Lirach.

“When we made our agreement we said we would inform each other when higher-ups came around.”

“There’s an archdemon come around?”

“Yes!”

“Wh-what?  I was never informed.”

A few minutes later found them crouching among some shrubs, making observations across the street with a pair of binoculars.  The binoculars weren’t strictly necessary, but they both knew you were supposed to have binoculars while making observations.

“There,” said Devi, pointing to something she had been looking at through the binoculars.

“What are you pointing at?” said Lirach, annoyed.

Devi handed the binoculars off, and Lirach looked through them.

A beat-up old silver car sat in the parking lot across the street next to the bed and breakfast.  A human was digging in the trunk for something. And standing next to her was—

“Oh no,” said Lirach, dropping the binoculars.  “This is bad. This is _bad._ ”

“Who is it?”

Lirach had gone pale. She was thinking of the sweet old couple that ran the bed and breakfast.  “If she hurts them…”

“Isn’t that a human with her?” said Devi.

“Looks like it.  I didn’t think many demons really did that anymore.”

“Did what?”

“Deals for souls and such.”

Devi resolutely tapped her fist on her hand.  “It’s my angelic duty to get that human away from her.”

“Devi, _no_ ,” said Lirach.  “That’s far too dangerous.  That archdemon could snap you in half.”

Devi wrung her hands. They both kept watching, trying to decide what to do

* * *

Beth and Maltha were having a nice trip so far.  The sweet couple that ran the B&B had told them they were free to use the kitchen, and then left for the day.  Beth had found a basket of Easter candy with an invitation to help themselves on the dining room table.

It was a bit chilly out this morning, so Beth had stayed in her fuzzy pajamas.  She was making herself some cocoa when Maltha came into the room, likewise clad in sleepwear.

“What are you doing?” said Maltha, looking at the microwave.

It was then that Beth realised Maltha might have never seen such an appliance before. She opened the door and retrieved her mug.  “I’m warming up some cocoa.  Want some?”

“Sure.”

Beth poured her a glass of milk and pointed out the Swiss Miss packets to her.  She tore one open and dumped it in, then stirred it at Beth’s direction.

“Now go ahead and stick it in the microwave.”

Beth darted forwards to intercept her when Maltha tried to put the mug in the microwave with the metal spoon still in it.  “Hold on there, don’t want this going in there.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t put metal in a microwave.”

“Why not?”

“I…I don’t know! You’re just not supposed to!”  Beth licked the spoon.  “Go ahead and set it for a minute.”

Maltha watched with fascination as the liquid started to bubble.  “How does this device work?”

“Er….radio waves,” tried Beth.

“Radio waves?”

“You know. Microwaves. That’s why it’s called a microwave.”

“Oh.  I see,” said Maltha, as though Beth’s explanation could possibly be sufficient.

They sipped their cocoa and ate toast, playing with each other’s hair and giggling to themselves. When they were finished, Beth stood and announced, “I’m going to get a shower.”

“All right.”

“Would you like to join me?”

“I don’t particularly need to wash myself.”

“Oh,” said Beth.

They would have a conversation later about the exact motivation behind showering with someone else.  For now Beth moved off on her own, leaving Maltha alone in the kitchen.

Maltha stared at the microwave, tapping a butter knife.  “What secrets are you hiding?”

She got up and fiddled with the device. The buttons all seemed to do more or less the same thing, except for one that said TIMER and simply initiated a countdown without the usual light and noise.  She pressed the lever that opened it, and the door popped open and tapped her in the face since she had been crouching to look at it.

The next logical step was to see what happened when one put various things in it, of course.  She could not figure out any way to get it to activate with the door open, so her own body parts were out.  The cup hadn’t reacted to it at all, so the plates and dishware probably wouldn’t either. That just left food.

She fetched the basket of Easter candy from the table and put in a chocolate sphere. She chewed on a second one while the first melted into a sticky mess on the microwave floor, which she rubbed off with her hand.  She then retrieved a package of something labeled “Peeps,” which turned out to be marshmallows coated in some type of yellow dust that tasted very sugary on her fingers.

She stuck one in the microwave and activated it, then watched as the confection ballooned in size, skin cracking.  It stared at her morosely from one pasted-on eye in its swollen body.  When she opened the door, the smell of burnt sugar filled the air. She scooped up the blob of melted sugar and licked it off her hand.

Her eyes fell to the butter knife on the table.

The thing about demons is they have few scruples about doing things they’ve been told not to.  Being told not to put metal in the microwave only fueled Maltha’s desire to find out what would happen if she did.

She did not repeat that particular experiment after seeing the results, and settled for the less troublesome activity of gorging herself on the basket of sweets.  The fact that the microwave no longer worked was merely coincidental to her losing interest in it, she would have assured any observers.

When Beth came back in, hair swabbed in a towel, she wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?”

“It’s nothing,” said Maltha. “Also, I have finished all the candy in this basket.  I hope nobody minds.”

“Maltha,” said Beth. “You’re not supposed to also eat the basket.”

Beth was referring to a spot in the wicker that evidenced obvious teeth marks.  Maltha gave her a small sneer. “Of course I know that.  That’s why I stopped after the first bite.”

Beth turned the basket so that the gap was facing the wall.  They both moved off to get dressed.

“You know,” said Beth, observing Maltha slipping back into her dress from the day before.  “It’s supposed to be cold today.  Is there a reason why you always wear a dress?  You can wear pants.”

Maltha ruffled her dress. “Aziraphale and Crowley told me pants were insufficient.”

“What do you mean?”

“They said I had to wear something else besides pants if I wanted to go out among humans.”

“Those transphobic assholes,” said Beth, hopping with one leg in her jeans.  “Don’t listen to them, Maltha. You can wear pants if you want to.  It doesn’t make you less of a woman somehow.”

Maltha frowned at her. She was not technically a woman, the same way Aziraphale and Crowley were not technically men, because they were all actually sexless, and she did not see how her mode of dress affected anything.  Nevertheless, Beth sounded solid in her resolve, and she thought perhaps there was some difference in etiquette that changed when you crossed the Pond, so she took Beth’s word for it.

“And I was starting to think they sounded cool from what you’ve been telling me,” said Beth, trying to pull her trousers up.  “Fuff.  I don’t know if I want to take you up on your offer to meet them now.”

“I’m ready to go.”

Beth turned around to see that Maltha was standing there in nothing but a bra and panties.  Beth nearly fell over.  “Wh-wh—Maltha.”

Maltha helped her up. “You can’t go out like that.”

“But you just said I could.”

Beth palmed her forehead. “Oh.  Aziraphale and Crowley are British, aren’t they?”

“How did you know?”

* * *

Maltha made her way out of the house in a pair of trousers borrowed from Beth, which found themselves mysteriously a few sizes larger than before.  Beth would not ask for them back.

They decided to go to the museum.  Devi and Lirach followed behind them as inconspicuously as anyone could travel in a vehicle from the 1930’s, which is to say not very inconspicuously.

“We should have taken your motorcycle,” said Devi.  “They’ll catch on right away that we’re following them.”

“Yes, a _motorcycle_  would have been much less noticeable!” said Lirach.

Devi said nothing.  Truthfully, Devi just always wanted to ride the motorcycle so she would have a reason to wrap her arms around Lirach’s waist.

“All right, so what’s the plan?” said Lirach.  “We’ve got to foil whatever plot that archdemon is going to enact.”

“Why are you looking at me?” said Devi.  “I haven’t the faintest idea what we should do!”

“Isn’t thwarting diabolical plans kind of your entire job?”

The antique car followed right behind Beth all the way from the B&B.  The only comment she made about it was, “That’s a nice car.”  Beth was not a car person, but it looked like the kind of car about which a car person would remark, “That’s a nice car.”  

Maltha’s glare at it in the rear-view mirror was more knowing, but she said nothing.

They found the ticket machine for the museum’s parking lot was conveniently malfunctioning, so they got to park for free.  Maltha seemed inordinately disappointed that they didn’t stamp her hand and merely gave her a tag to display on her person.

Devi convinced the person working the counter to let them in without paying.  Devi was the kind of being who saw no problem in getting whatever she could for free which, as an angel, was quite a lot.  It annoyed Lirach to no end, but the demon also didn’t feel like shelling out $10 for admission when they wouldn’t even be enjoying the exhibits, so she didn’t complain this time around.

Devi and Lirach followed Maltha around the museum as inconspicuously as they could, which is to say not very inconspicuously. Their strengths really did lie in open work, not espionage.

“Who’s that?” said Beth, noting the pair hovering behind them in the far corner of the room.

“Dunno,” said Maltha. “Let’s just ignore them and enjoy the trip.  Shall we start with art or natural history?”

They made their way through an exhibit about ancient Greece.  Maltha gave an exclamation of surprise when she saw an amphora sitting on a pedestal.  “I remember these,” she said, walking over, reaching over the red rope, and picking it up by the handles.

Beth scrambled over and grabbed her arm.  “Maltha, put that down!”

“What?”

“ _Put it down_ ,” said Beth, looking around frantically for any security guards nearby.

Maltha obliged.  “I don’t see what the big deal is.  It’s just a broken water jar.”

“It’s thousands of years old!”

“So am I.  That’s hardly an accomplishment.”

“Why don’t we go to the art exhibit,” said Beth, grimacing and pushing Maltha away from the artifacts.

That turned out to be an equally bad idea, because the first painting they saw Maltha moistened her finger with saliva and rubbed it on the painting to see what material it was made out of.

“All right,” said Beth, wondering if it was mere luck or a genuine miracle that they hadn’t been caught by security yet.  “Listen.  Darling.  Babe. Maltha.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not supposed to touch anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s all very old!”

“That doesn’t mean it’s valuable.”

“Just.  Just do it as a favour to me, all right? Just.  Don’t touch anything unless I also touch it.  All right?”

“All right, Beth.”

Devi and Lirach watched this conference from around the corner.

“It looks like Maltha is giving her human slave some instructions,” said Lirach.  “What are they going to do?  I can’t bear this tension any longer.”

They followed them into the modern art section, where Beth and Maltha stood staring at an exhibit that consisted of nothing more than a blank canvas with a single, bold line swiped down it.

“What are they doing?” said Lirach.  “This is tearing me up.  We’re all going to die.”

“Looks like they’re just enjoying the sights.”

“An archdemon wouldn’t come up to Earth to _enjoy the sights!_ That’s something field agents do!”

“Instead of working, you mean?”

Beth and Maltha were absorbed in looking at this particular piece of art, which was titled “Enigma” and had been donated by a rich Swiss man.

“I don’t get it,” said Beth after a solid five minutes.

“Enigma,” said Maltha.

“Modern art is stupid,” said Beth. “This takes no effort or creativity.”

“The single line breaking the empty space represents the singular focus of the mind of a creative individual, which occludes all other thought to the point of obsession,” said Maltha.  “And the title represents how mysterious this way of thinking is to average minds.”

Beth looked around to check if Maltha was reading off a plaque, but couldn’t find anything.

“It speaks to me,” said Maltha.

“Well, I’m sure you and the artist would have a grand old time being pretentious together,” said Beth. “Let’s take a pic.”

They crowded together in front of the painting, and Beth snapped a photo.  “Oh, no,” said Beth.  “I should have brought my power bank.  I’m at 15%.”

“15% of what?”

“My battery.”  Beth showed her.

“Oh, so when this little meter reads 100% that means you have maximum power?”

“Yeah.”

Maltha concentrated on it for a moment.  Beth watched as the meter climbed back up to fully charged.

“Wow!” said Beth. “You’re awfully handy to have around. Thanks.  All right, let’s go the cafeteria. I’m starving.”

Devi and Lirach sat in the far end of the cafeteria sharing a basket of chicken fingers while Beth and Maltha ordered.

“We’re not going to be able to stop her,” wept Lirach.  “Our only option will be to run to save our skin.  We’re going to die as soon as she starts her nefarious plan.”

Devi took another bite of fries.

They both froze with panic as Beth approached them with her tray, clambering over the bench to sit next to them.

“Hey there!” she said. “I thought-”

They both bolted away as fast as they could move.

“Aw,” said Beth as Maltha sat next to her.  “I didn’t think I was _that_ scary.  I wanted to have a talk with them.”

“Let’s look through the photos you’ve taken, Beth.”

She pulled out her phone and swiped through them.  They had taken the most photos together in the art section, mostly because Maltha couldn’t see what the big deal was for most of the historical ones.

When Beth’s phone battery reached 85%, it flashed a low battery warning and the screen shut off.

“It’s died,” said Maltha.

Beth leaned back, sighing. “Maltha.”

“Yes?”

“When I showed you my phone earlier.  Did you use a miracle to charge the phone up to 100%? Or did you just…use a miracle to make the battery meter display 100%?”

“I’m not sure what the difference is.”

Beth pocketed her phone. “All right. That’s fine, whatever, we don’t need to take any more photos.”

They finished their trip after lunch. Eventually, they got kicked out when Maltha tried to detach “Enigma” from the wall so she could take it home with her.

* * *

The exit from the museum found Devi and Lirach trailing the archdemon back to her lair, taking seats in their surveillance nest again.

Lirach was full-blown weeping.  Devi had gotten a second basket of chicken planks to go and was eating them.

“We’re doomed,” said Lirach. “Any moment she’s going to do something. I can’t take this tension anymore.  We’re done for.  We’re done.”

“Maybe she’s just sightseeing.”

“She’s not sightseeing.”

“What else would she be doing puttering around in a museum like that taking so many photos.”

“There doesn’t have to be a logical explanation for it!” Lirach cried.  “Every demon knows Maltha is stark raving mad! She’s liable to snap any minute!”

They both fell silent as they felt a presence approaching. A shadow fell over them.

They tried to bolt in opposite directions, but they found themselves yanked backwards by the scruff of the neck and held up.

“Put me down!” Devi yelled, feet flailing, indignant.

“Listen,” hissed the archdemon Maltha in a terrifying whisper.  “I don’t know what you’re doing following us around, but we’re having a lovely trip and you’re ruining it.  You were very rude to Beth at lunch and she was very disappointed.  I want you to be polite to her, do you understand?”

“P-p-p-polite?” said Lirach.

“Yes.”

“All right,” said Lirach. “W-We’ll do whatever you say.”

“You aren’t going to kill us?” Devi said.

Maltha put them down. “Truthfully I hadn’t planned on it, but I can if you prefer it.”

They fell over themselves to tell her that they were fine as they were.

“All right, then,” said Maltha.  “I’m glad we could have this talk.  Now, Beth thinks I’m in the shower and I assume she is going to try and sneak out here without me noticing to talk to you two.  You’ll indulge her, understand?  I’ll know if you don’t.”

“A-All right,” said Lirach. “Yes, lord.”

“Good.”

Maltha’s feet crunched over leaves and branches as she walked away from them.

They lay flat back down in the bushes.  “I thought we were goners,” said Lirach.

Devi noted with distaste that her chicken strips had fallen into the dirt.  She dusted one off.

“Oh shit, here she comes,” said Lirach with alarm, noting the blonde figure making a beeline for them.

Devi and Lirach scrambled to figure out whether they should stay and obey Maltha or flee for fear of bungling the interaction.  Beth reached them before they could make a decision.

“Hi!” she said with a friendly wave.

“Oh—h-hello!” sputtered Lirach. “How are you today?”

Beth had a blue and green basket under one arm, and she extended it forwards now.  “Happy Easter!”

They both looked at her.

“Er,” said Beth.  “I saw you surveying us and you looked tired, so I thought you might like something to cheer you up.”

“I’m not really supposed to celebrate Easter,” said Lirach. Devi elbowed her.

“That’s okay,” said Beth. “You can just say you’re indulging gluttony or something!  Please just take it!”

It was then that the two of them noticed that a side of the basket was destroyed.  “Er…” said Devi.  “Is something wrong?”

Beth sighed.  “Maltha ate all the candy from this basket, and I think she tried to replace it.   _Tried._  And I wanted to get it out of the way before the sweet old couple that runs the B &B sees it.”

“All right,” said Devi. “It’s my angelic duty to nullify demonic activity.  I’ll take the basket.”

Beth handed it over. The contents looked more or less like genuine Easter candy, except the Peeps were red and dripping some unknown liquid, and a few of the chocolate eggs’ aluminum wrappers were moving faintly, as though something were squirming inside.  Devi held it away from her body.

“Anyway,” said Beth. “It’s nice to meet you. I wasn’t sure if you were following us around because you were worried about me, but don’t worry.  I’m having a good time and can leave any time I want to.”

“Oh,” said Devi. “Good.”

“Well, I should try and get back before Maltha gets out of the shower.  See you around.”

They watched her pick her way down the hill and move off.

Even with this reassurance, they were both grateful when the pair left town, though not before they had wreaked some unintended havoc at the local zoo.  Devi was displeased to find some of the chocolate eggs eventually hatch in the basket.

* * *

“Maltha.”

“Yes?”

“For the last time. You can’t just miracle the gage. If the gage is pointing to full, that’s doesn’t somehow put more gas in the car’s tank.”

“I’ve already apologised for that.”

“…I know, I just wanted to remind you every few miles how we ended up here.”

When it started to get dark in the wide-open desert road, Beth flopped over behind a cactus.  “All right. I’m done for the day.  You can carry me if you want to, but I’m not walking a single step further.”

Maltha lay down next to her, putting her hands behind her head.  

The stars started to wink on one by one.  “The sky at night is so beautiful, isn’t it?” said Beth.  “Without all the light pollution, you can see practically everything.”

“It is,” said Maltha. “I’m glad you’re here to see it with me. I know it’s been a lot of walking.”

Beth reached over and brushed her hand against Maltha’s.  “I think I’d go anywhere, even straight to the bottom of Hell, if it was with you.”

“Hell is nothing,” said Maltha.  “I would go into Heaven’s most secure stronghold for you.”

Beth rolled over, propping herself up to see that Maltha’s eyes, still fixed on the night sky, were brimming with tears.  And Beth smiled.  “Okay, no need to get all emotional on me.  Nothing is going to split us up.”

“You mean that?”

“Yes, I do.”  Beth patted her hand.


	9. The Morning After the Coronation Banquet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165699177575/your-own-side-outtake-9-the-morning-after-the

 

 

Crowley woke up with a pounding headache.

That didn’t happen very often. He usually used a preemptive miracle to make sure he wouldn’t get a hangover.  Which meant he must have gotten really, _really_ drunk last night.  Unusually drunk, even for him.  He couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened last night.  So blackout drunk, then.

And where was he?  He was lying down on something hard, and there was a warm weight on his lap.  He opened his eyes to see a vaulted ceiling.

Hell’s banquet hall. That was enough to make at least last night’s preamble come rushing back—Noah had finally reached the age at which he could take the crown, and they had held the coronation ceremony, and then moved to the dining hall for a feast—and quite a lot of alcohol, apparently.

He lifted his head and his heart seized at the visage of Satan at the head of the table.  Then he relaxed.  How long was it going to take before he stopped seeing Satan and started seeing Noah?  It wasn’t Noah’s fault, but he looked even more like his father than Adam did.

And the way Noah’s gangly young adult body was strewn out over the lord’s seat, mouth open as he snored, crown askew on his head—well, Satan would never have let himself be caught like that among company.

Crowley looked around muzzily.  The banquet hall had been absolutely torn apart.  Half the chairs were knocked over, there were plates and goblets and discarded food scattered all over the table and floor, and it looked like everyone was passed out in varying states around the room.  Abraxas was at the far end of the table next to Noah, curled up and sleeping; all of the cats she had insisted on bringing with her were on top of her.  Paula was lying in a chair next to her, head tilted back, a line of drool down her face.  Botis lay prostrate on the floor, snoring loudly; Kyleth was using him as a pillow.  Lirach had gotten up into the buttresses and fallen asleep hanging upside-down, somehow.  There was a huge pile of demons passed out on top of each other on the floor.

Crowley lay his head back down.  Oh, now this was something—what was he using as a pillow?  He craned his neck to see that it was Aziraphale’s arse, and that Aziraphale was, in turn, using Maltha’s stomach as a pillow.  They were both half undressed.

It was at this point that the part of Crowley’s brain that regulated his self-consciousness kicked in and he realized that yes, someone _was_ lying on his lap and _yes_ , he was also half undressed, and his trousers and pants were partly down.  He levered himself upright enough to see that Beth was facedown on his legs, and his cock was hanging out.

Crowley cursed and blushed mightily, shoving Beth off and yanking his trousers up.  Beth made a sound and rolled her head.  “Five more minutes,” she mumbled, before laying her head back down on the table and sinking back into sleep.

Crowley looked around and saw that Mammon, sitting on the floor by the banquet table, was the only sober and conscious one out of the whole lot.

“Mammon,” said Crowley tightly.

“I see you’re the first to wake,” said Mammon.

“Mammon, it looks like Beth fell asleep trying to suck me off.”

“Yes, it does,” said Mammon.

“I mean, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that’s what it looks like.  But obviously that’s not what actually happened last night.”

Mammon stared at him with beady eyes.  Crowley raised his arms and laughed theatrically.  “That would be ridiculous. Of course that didn’t happen!”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” said Mammon.

“… _Is_ that what happened?” said Crowley.

“You begged Maltha and Aziraphale for a threesome last night,” said Mammon.

Crowley went white as a sheet.  “ _No_.”

“You did.”

“No, no, no, I definitely didn’t.”

“I believe your exact words were, ‘Aziraphale, I want to taste your angelic sword while Maltha takes me from behind, and—’”

Crowley waved his arms frantically to cut her off.  “Mammon, you can’t tell anyone I said that.  That’s so embarrassing.  That’s the most embarrassing thing I ever said.”

“And Beth agreed to let Maltha do it, but only if she got to participate as well.”

“We didn’t actually do it though, right?” said Crowley with a nervous laugh.  “That’s absurd.  We wouldn’t all fornicate right here on the table.  Right?  Mammon?  Mammon?  Right?”

Mammon flicked an ear. “A great number of you did a great number of things last night that I’m sure you’d regret this morning.  I have no interest in recalling what each of you did and didn’t do for your own curiosity.”

“Mammon,” said Crowley, struggling up to his knees.  “I swear to somebody, if you know, tell me who I had sex with last night.”

Mammon wiggled her nose.

“I demand you tell me.”

“Nobody,” said Mammon. “Is that what you want to hear?  Will that make you be quiet?”

Crowley dragged his hands down his face, groaning.  “Just how _hard_ did we party last night?”

One of the wooden barrels stacked against the wall, which Crowley had assumed contained alcohol, rolled off the pile and thumped onto the ground.  Something inside gave out a little cry.  When the barrel rolled to a stop against the table, the lid wiggled off, and Oryss poked her head out, the wooden disc stuck in one of her horns. “Goodness.”

“Okay, I know I drank a lot last night, but not _that_ much,” said Crowley.  “It was only wine, wasn’t it?  How many glasses did I have?”

“Why is Adramelech in the chandelier?” said Aziraphale’s voice fuzzily from behind him.

Crowley looked up to see that, exactly as implied, Adramelech’s body was limply draped over the chandelier.  Oryss dragged herself up to sit at the table, playing with the feathers on Adramelech’s wing, which was outstretched to brush the table.

“Angel, you’re awake,” said Crowley.  “Good. Put your trousers back on.”

Aziraphale scrambled as he realized his state of undress, dislodging Crowley and Maltha and reaching for his misplaced trousers.

“God,” said another voice, and Adam rose from the floor like a zombie.  “You weren’t lying when you said it was going to be a lively event, Maltha.  Maltha?”

Dog yipped and tugged at Adam to play with him.  Maltha slit one eye open, then her gaze went wide, and she flew upright and put her hands in the air.  “Ha! There it is!  I’m not the ruler anymore! I’m not in charge!  I can do whatever I want now!  Ha!” She pointed to Noah, who was still asleep.  “No takebacks.”

“Babe, keep it down,” muttered Beth.  “You’ll wake the neighbours.”

“Wait a minute,” said Maltha as Aziraphale struggled into his trousers using her as a balance, “where is the court?  The advisors and them were all here at the start of the feast.”  She rubbed her chin.  “…weren’t they?”

“I sent them away when it became clear you lot from Earth were going to make fools of yourselves,” said Mammon.  “Noah hosted another reception for them in the throne room while everyone else drunk themselves silly in here.”

Maltha put her palm on her face.  “All right. Good thinking.  I don’t know if we would have ever recovered their respect if they had seen this.”  She pulled a strap from an undergarment back onto her shoulder.  “But wait a minute, Noah is in _here_ , passed out like us.”

“Mmm, yes,” said Mammon. “He came back in after a while.  I think he forgot about the nobles.”

Maltha crawled down the table and shook Noah’s shoulder.  “Noah. Honey.  Noah. Noah Young. Or whatever your last name is.  Noah.   _Noah._ ”

Noah jerked awake, then straightened his crown. “Hm, what?  What?  What is it, mother?”

“How did the alternate reception in the throne room go last night?” she asked him.

He put a finger up in the air, opened his mouth to answer, then his eyes bugged out of his head.  “I forgot about the advisers and them!”

He rushed from the room, nearly tripping over his robes.

Maltha’s head thunked back onto the table. One of Abraxas’s cats meowed and crawled over to lay on her thigh.  “Good work, Mammon.  I knew I could count on you to keep things under control.”

“Mmm, yes,” said Mammon.

“Did we do anything else regrettable besides leave a tableful of nobles hanging overnight?”

Mammon took one hoof and pointed it at her tusk, where a large golden ring was perched.

Maltha looked at it fuzzily.  Then she erupted with laughter that shook her body so much she rolled off the table.

“What’s so funny?” said Crowley.

“Last night while Maltha was inebriated, she insisted now that Noah was king, he needed to find a consort right away,” said Mammon.

“Oh, Mammon,” said Maltha hysterically.  “I’m so sorry.”

“And she absolutely _insisted_ I was the only appropriate consort for Noah,” continued Mammon, “and took the royal consort’s ring right off Beth’s hand to put it on mine.  Except it wouldn’t fit, so she slid it on my tusk instead.  Then she announced it was legally binding as per orders of the Queen of Hell, despite having very visibly and grandly passed the crown to Noah immediately before this.  And now it’s stuck there, and I can’t get it off.”

Maltha continued to wheeze with her hand clapped over her mouth.

“I want to talk to whoever was in charge of the wine last night,” said Crowley.

“I’m sorry, Mammon,” said Maltha.  “You don’t have to be the royal consort.  Unless you want to, of course.”

Mammon flared her nose. “I hardly think King Noah would be amenable to the idea.”

Maltha huffed and hauled herself back to her feet.  “Right, right.  Of course.”

Beth was still fast asleep. Maltha walked over and took Beth under her armpits, dragging her off the table. “Well, if we’re quite finished, I’ll be taking my girlfriend and going back up to Earth now.  Ciao.”

“Maltha,” said Mammon.

“Oh, ciao?  I learned it from Crowley.  It’s Italian.  Means ‘food.’”

“I was simply going to suggest staying for a little while longer to ensure Noah gets his footing properly.”

Maltha made a sour face. “It’s always something.  All right.”

The room began to come to life with grumbles and moans and the wishing away of hangovers.  The partygoers cleaned themselves off, dressed themselves, sheepishly asked each other about what they had done the night before, anything to recover from the wild night.

Crowley took tally of everyone and spotted Yulera among the lot trying to clean food off themselves. He went over to her.  “Yulera.”

Startled, Yulera leapt back at her name.  “I-I didn’t do anything!”

“Calm down, you’re not in trouble,” said Crowley.  “I just wanted to talk to you about the drinks last night.  I seem to remember you bringing them out sometime.”

“Yes,” said Yulera, wringing the edge of her shirt.  “The activity was a bit too much for me to handle, so I went back to see if they needed any help in the kitchen.”

“That’s great!” said Crowley. “But, uh, can I ask…You _did_ serve just wine, right?”

“Wine?  Yes, it was just wine.  Why?”

“Look,” said Crowley, “we all got really, _really_ drunk last night, and I feel like I shouldn’t have gotten _that_ wild on the amount of glasses I had last night.”

“How many did you have?”

“Not that many!” snapped Crowley.  “I don’t remember!  But I’ve gotten drunk off wine enough times to know it takes a lot longer than that!”

Yulera hung her head. “All right. I cut the wine with something.”

“You… _cut_ the wine?”

“Okay…the wine was mostly gone, so I refilled the barrel and mixed the wine with something else.”

“What?   _Why?_ ”

“Well, I—I didn’t see any more around, and everyone was really busy and I didn’t want to stop and ask where to get more from, and everyone just wanted more alcohol, so…”

“So you brought it back up to volume with _something else._  Okay, what was the something else?”

“I don’t remember. Just some bottles that were around in the stockroom.”

“Can you show me?  Do you have any bottles of it left?”

Yulera led him back into the kitchen, past the single occupant, who was washing dishes, into the stock room.  She grabbed a bottle off the shelf and held it out.  “It was this, I think.”

Crowley read the label, then exploded, “Yulera, this is fucking _absinthe._ ”

“Um.”

“We thought we were drinking wine, but we were really drinking absinthe, and the wine was already mostly gone so we were already too drunk to notice.”  He palmed his forehead.  “Great.  All right. That explains it.”

Yulera reddened, looking like she wanted to cry.  “I’m sorry, Crowley.  I just wanted everyone to have a good time.”

“Wasn’t anyone supervising you?  Didn’t Oryss pop in to check on you at one point, right?”

Yulera shrugged helplessly.

Crowley sighed.  “All right.  What’s done is done.  It was an accident.  Not your fault.  Someone should have been watching you.”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“I guess not. Just—next time, ask for help instead of making a decision like this on your own, okay?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Now let’s go back out there.  The group might be going back up to Earth soon.”

When Crowley came back out, he saw Abraxas talking with Aziraphale, tears streaming down her face. Paula was next to her.  They both had an armful of cats each.

“What’s wrong?” said Crowley, scooting into the conversation.  “What’s going on?”

“I can’t find Tangerine,” sobbed Abraxas.

“…Tangerine?”

Abraxas held up the black and white cat in her right hand.  “I’ve got Oreo.”  The tortoiseshell in her left.  “Whiskers.” She gestured to the white and tuxedo cats in Paula’s arms.  “And Snowball and Mittens.  But I can’t find Tangerine.”

“Abraxas, why did you bring all these damn cats if you couldn’t keep track of them?” Crowley snapped.

“They’d get lonely without me!” Abraxas tried.

“All right,” said Paula as Abraxas cried, “it’s too late for that now.  Let’s just try and find it.”

“He was still a baby,” Abraxas wailed.  “He’s probably lost and scared and cold and alone!  You have to help me find him!”

“The doors to the banquet hall should have been closed the whole night, right?” said Crowley.  “He should still be in the room somewhere.”

They fanned out to find the cat.  Curious onlookers were informed of the problem and joined.  Soon the whole group was poking in corners calling for the cat.

“I’ll check in the servant passages,” said Yulera, dashing off.

“All right.  Let’s look in the kitchen, too.  Check in all the pots and pans.”

Their search proved fruitless.  “Oh no,” said Crowley when they reconvened.  “I think I know what happened.  Notice who’s missing.”

Aziraphale looked around and took stock, then his mind was immediately filled with images of what a certain archdemon’s huge jaws could do to such a small creature.  “Mykas wouldn’t hurt a _kitten_ , surely.”

“Maybe not on purpose,” said Crowley, taking out his phone.

“Has Mykas got a mobile?” said Maltha with surprise.

“Nope. Angelo.” He held the device to his face as it rang.  “He picked up on it really quickly, actually.  Took to it like…something to water.  Like something that likes water to water.  What was it that likes water?  Ah, hello!  Yes, hello Angelo, this is Crowley.  I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”

“What has your horrid beast done to my cat?” Abraxas yelled as soon as Crowley moved the phone down so they could all listen.  He immediately jerked it back away from her.  “Abraxas, shut up!”  He held it back out.

“Ah, hi Angelo, is Mykas with you right now?”

“Yes, he’s here,” said Angelo’s crackly voice.

“Where are you two?”

“We’re up in the fourth circle at the swimming hole.”

“Oh!”

“Last night Mykas was starting to get a bit rowdy, so I suggested we leave for a bit to cool off. I can’t get him to come out of the lake now.”  Mykas could be heard in the background, barking and begging Angelo to come swim. “He…only knows the doggy paddle so far.”

“All right,” said Crowley. “I hope you two are having a lovely time.  But listen, Abraxas is missing one of her cats, and we can’t find it.  Mykas didn’t do anything to it, did he?”

“Goodness, no,” said Angelo. “He acutally got on with Abraxas’s cats rather well last night.  Better than Adam’s hellhound at any rate.  Don’t you remember?”

Crowley tugged at his collar.  “Um… Well, I uh…had a bit too much to drink last night, and..”

“Hmm, yes the alcohol was a bit strong, so I refrained from drinking.”

Crowley desperately wanted to ask if Angelo had witnessed Crowley making sexual advances last night and, if so, if he knew if any of them had been followed through to completion. But he couldn’t very well talk about it when everyone was gathered around listening.  “All right then.  Thanks, Angelo. Let us know if you see any cats around, all right?”

“Okay,” said Angelo. “Maybe if I can get Mykas to cooperate, I can ask him to sniff it out.”

He hung up.  “So Mykas didn’t tear the cat to bits.  What about Dog?”

“No!” said Adam. “He would never!  …And even if he had, we would have found the body by now.”

Dog barked.  Abraxas put her hands to her face and wept.

“Look, this is a damned normal cat,” said Crowley.  “It doesn’t have any supernatural powers.  It couldn’t have gotten very far on its own.  It has to be around here somewhere.”

Mammon informed them that yes, the doors had been closed all night, and during the few minutes when they were open for Noah to pass back and forth, she hadn’t seen any cats come in or out.

“If it went out, it went out through the back way,” she told them.

They scoured every inch of the ninth layer, to no success.  The search wore on into the afternoon.

Abraxas sat on the closest stoop she could find, because you’re supposed to sit on a stoop when you’re upset and want to cry.

“I’m really sorry, honey,” said Paula, sitting next to her.  “I don’t know if we’ll be able to find him.  We might have to leave without him.”

“I’m not leaving him down here!” Abraxas said.  “I won’t do that!  I’m not going back up until he’s found!”

They spread out into the eight layer.  Abraxas went to the office supercenter in the bureaucratic regions of Hell and made some posters, which she stapled to whatever surfaces were handy, mostly rocks and boulders and trees that used to be tortured human souls.  Adam had Dog try to track the cat down based on scent, but even his keen nose turned up nothing.

Noah was gracious enough to send out an address.  He tactfully hid the plea for information about the cat’s whereabouts in a letter thanking everyone for the successful coronation ceremony.  Then, at the bottom, he offered a reward to anyone who could bring the cat to him.

That turned out to be a mistake.  Because it turned out many, many of the denizens of Hell had no idea what constituted a cat, apparently.

“This…is a lion,” said Noah to the demon who had sought an audience with him.

The demon kept their grip on the rope around the animal’s neck and curtsied.  “Young Lord, I was under the impression lions were cats.”

“It’s…” Noah said, gesturing.  “It’s just a housecat.  A normal-sized cat.  About yea big, meows.”

“I apologize, sire.”

“That’s a dog,” said Noah patiently to the next one.  “I know it’s easy to get them mixed up.  Dogs wag their tails, and cats don’t.”

“Look, it’s not wagging its tail right now,” the demon tried, but the excitement in his voice roused the dog and it began to wag its tail.

One demon brought down an entire menagerie of cats, mewling and swatting at each other.  They scattered as soon as the demon released them.

“Are any of those yours?” said Noah.

Abraxas crossed her arms and glowered.  “No.”

“Where did you get all those?” Noah asked the demon.

“I went up to Earth and gathered as many cats as I could in hopes of pleasing you, sire.”

Noah massaged his temples. “All right.  Well, maybe put them back where you found them.”

Noah slouched in the throne when the next pair of demons came in.  “That’s a demon that’s disguised itself as a cat,” he said, pointing to the vaguely cat-shaped one.  “And not even very well.”

“Oh come on!” Noah yelled to the next demon, the last he would have the patience to see.  “That’s a snake!  You know what a snake looks like!  Everyone knows what a snake looks like!”

Aziraphale and Crowley met Abraxas and Paula back in the banquet hall.  Crowley touched Abraxas’s elbow.  “Aziraphale and I are going to get going now.  I’m really sorry about your cat, Abraxas.  We’ll keep an eye out for him.”

“Okay,” said Abraxas tearfully.  “It’s not fair to ask you to stay any longer.  Everyone else has already left.”

Aziraphale was about to offer to help her get a new cat—easy to replace!  You won’t be able to tell the difference!—but Crowley read his mind and shook his head, cutting him off.

“Poor Tangerine,” said Crowley, wheeling the suitcase he used for day trips behind him as they made their way out of the ninth layer.  “Poor kit probably fell into a crevice somewhere and broke its neck.”

“I certainly hope not,” said Aziraphale.  “I’m sure Abraxas—”

Crowley threw his arm out to stop Aziraphale and froze in place.  A figure was picking its way towards them across the rocks.

“Shit,” said Crowley, trembling.  “Aziraphale, get out your sword.”

“What’s wrong?” said Aziraphale.

Crowley darted behind Aziraphale as the newcomer arrived, but she merely stopped and looked the pair up and down.  “Crowley, right?”

“H-Hi, Duke Jezebel,” said Crowley, edging further behind Aziraphale.

“Wow, this is so crazy, right!” said Jezebel with forced familiarity.  “I don’t think I’ve seen you since…er…Since I bashed your head into a rock.”

Her voice got gradually less and less cheerful as she spoke.  Crowley waited to see if she was going to continue, but when she didn’t, he pointed to a nearby rock.  “Yeah, I think it was that rock, actually.”

Jezebel rubbed the back of her head.  “Er…Sorry about that.”

The fact that Jezebel sounded so embarrassed emboldened Crowley just enough for him to creep out from behind Aziraphale.  “Er…all right.”

“Um…Well, I didn’t come down here to try and harass you or anything,” said Jezebel.  “I was just on my way to the ninth layer to talk to the king.”

Aziraphale noticed a folded up flyer in her hand.  “Was it about the cat?” he asked.

Jezebel unfolded the leaflet.  “Yeah. I think I saw this cat just this afternoon.  It’s orange, right?”

“What?” said Aziraphale. “Really?  Where?”

“Up in the second layer. Someone was already carrying it up towards Earth, so there might not be much point if it’s already been found, but I thought maybe I could come down and…get the reward?”  She sounded a little guilty.

“Hold on,” said Aziraphale, “you said you saw someone carrying it?  Who was it?”

“Oh it was just some demoness,” said Jezebel.  “I don’t know her name.”

“What did she look like?”

“Hm,” said Jezebel.  “She was about this tall, had small horns, a tail.  Naked.  I think she was a succubus.”

Aziraphale had a stormy look on his face.  “Well, that might explain why we couldn’t find it.  There was a cat thief in the search party.”

* * *

Yulera stood bolt upright as the door to her shop slammed open.  She shrunk back when she saw both Aziraphale and Crowley looking very angry in the doorway.

“You stole Abraxas’s cat. Admit it,” Crowley demanded.

Yulera dived behind the counter for cover.  “No I didn’t!” she defended.  “Get out of my shop!”

Something gave a very small meow behind the counter.

“You dirty liar!” said Crowley, storming back there.  “Give it to me.”

The orange kitten finally appeared.  Yulera snatched it from the floor behind the counter, backing up into the wall.  “No!  It’s mine!  I’m not giving it back!”

“Abraxas was very upset,” said Aziraphale.  “And you just let her believe her cat was gone!  You hid it the whole time we were looking for it!”

“It’s not fair!” yelled Yulera.  “It’s not fair that she gets to have five and I can’t have any!”

“Give it to me,” said Crowley, holding his hand out.

“No!”

“You knew exactly what you were doing with that absinthe!”

“You said you weren’t mad at me, Crowley!”

“That was before I knew you had drugged us all _on purpose_ so you could _steal_ our friend’s cat!”

The cat gave a pitiful meow.  Yulera hugged it tighter.  “It loves me!”

“It’s scared because you took it away from its mother!”

“You can’t just take things that aren’t yours!” said Aziraphale.  “We’ve been over this.”

“Yulera, I swear to somebody,” said Crowley venomously.  “My name is on the lease of this building.  I’m not going to help you anymore if you behave like this.  Give me the damn cat.”

Yulera, on the verge of tears, held the cat out.  Crowley took it, holding it by the scruff of its neck with one hand, the other in a fist on his hip.  “Okay, new rule.  From now on, you’re not allowed to take _anything_ without asking me or Aziraphale first if it’s okay for you to have.”

“That’s cruel!” protested Yulera.

“If you’re going to act like a child, we’ll treat you like one,” said Aziraphale.  

Yulera sulked in the corner. “It’s not fair.  Why can’t I have a cat?”

“Nobody ever told you you can’t have a cat!” said Crowley.  “You just can’t steal one!”

“Well, where else am I supposed to get one!” Yulera cried.  “I went on a soul-searching journey for one like I did to find my griffin and none turned up.”

Crowley stared at her. “Did…Did you think cats were rare or something?”

Yulera crossed her arms.

“Oh my god,” said Crowley. “Yulera, cats aren’t mythical animals like griffins.  They’re not hard to get.  You can just pay a small adoption fee and get one.  Sometimes they just show up of their own accord at your house.  Sometimes people try to _give_ them away.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that!” Yulera said.  “I don’t know anything about any animal that wasn’t in my bestiary.”

Crowley sighed, holding the kitten in the crook of his elbow.  “Aziraphale, get Yulera a book about cat husbandry, would you?”

Yulera stood up, stars in her eyes.  “You’ll help me get a cat?  Really you will?”

Crowley smacked his forehead.  “Will you stop stealing shite if I get you a cat?”

She nodded vigorously.

“All right, I’ll get you a cat, _if_ you apologize to Abraxas, _and_ to Noah.   _And_ you can’t have more than one,” he added quickly after imagining what might happen if her propensity for hoarding came into the equation.

“But what if it gets lonely while I’m gone?”

“Two, then.”

“Only two?”  She looked at him with wet, wide eyes.

“Three,” said Crowley. “You can have, _at most_ , three cats.  No more.”

“Earth really _is_ the best,” Yulera said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it for the outtakes!  Thanks for reading.  This is the end for real this time.  I don’t have any more secret scenes to show, but if inspiration strikes or if someone makes a really good suggestion maybe I might write some more ;)
> 
> edit: here's 3 graphics i just made  
> http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165704264950/hopefully-this-is-readable-tooi-made-a-timeline  
> http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165704242985/hope-this-is-readableanother-thing-for-my-fic  
> http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/165704212925/i-made-up-an-alignments-chart-with-some-characters


	10. Foundations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/166657423225/your-own-side-outtake-10-foundations

* * *

_Tick tick tick tick…_

“Your move angel.”

The clock continued to tick in the otherwise silent room as Aziraphale sat there with his chin on his fist, thinking very hard.  “I know, my dear.”

“It’s been your move for ten minutes.”

“Let me think!”  Aziraphale leaned in, carefully studying the dilemma.

He reached a hand out. Crowley’s eyes flashed over his glasses. “Ohh, are you sure you want to try _that_ one?”

Conflicted, Aziraphale withdrew his hand.  “Crowley, stop doing that!  This is why it’s taking me ten minutes to decide!”

“All right, all right, go ahead.”

Aziraphale reached out again, and Crowley sucked in a sharp breath.

“I’ve had quite enough of this, you horrible serpent!” Aziraphale cried.  “I’m just going to go!”

“Nobody’s stopping you.”

Aziraphale reached out and yanked out one of the wooden logs in the stack precariously perched on the card table.  The entire thing shuddered, swayed dangerously, then fell over, scattering everywhere.

“Jenga!” Crowley shouted. “That’s three in a row!  Step up your game, angel!”

Aziraphale huffed, retrieving the fallen pieces.  “You cheat.”

“How am I cheating?”

“You’re psyching me out.”

They  worked together to stack the blocks back up.  Then they stared each other down in silence.

_Tick tick tick…_

“You can go first again,” said Crowley.

“No, I think you should take the first move.”

Crowley smoothly slid a block out and placed it on top.  “This is just like that time in 1926 when we had a chess game last seventeen hours because you refused to admit you couldn’t checkmate me with just a king.”

“It’s possible to do,” Aziraphale snapped, putting his block on top of Crowley’s.  

Crowley leaned forwards, studying the blocks like a puzzle.  Then, his eyebrows rose, and he looked over at the wall.  “Hey, your clock’s stopped.”

Aziraphale looked over at the contraption, which was now sitting silent and motionless, the hands drooping down to point to the floor.  “Oh, so it has.  Goodness, I don’t think I’ve changed the batteries since I got it.”

“What time is it, anyway?” Crowley looked at his watch. “Bugger, my watch’s stopped too.  Damn thing is top of the line with three different light settings and it can’t even tell me what time it is.”

Aziraphale got up and leaned over Crowley as he fiddled with his watch.  “Change the battery perhaps?”

Crowley flicked some buttons on it, and the surface illuminated.  “Aw come on, angel, I don’t use _batteries._  Besides, the backlight and the stopwatch still work.  Wait…”

They both watched as the stopwatch on Crowley’s wrist flicked, repeatedly failing to make it to the one second mark.

“Bugger,” said Crowley. “I’ll have to take it to the shop and have it fixed.”

“I hardly think you need it,” said Aziraphale.  “What with carrying your mobile around all the time.  It’s like a pocket watch now.”

“Everyone knows you need a watch to be taken seriously,” said Crowley.  “…Though I see your point.”  He slid his phone out of his pocket and turned the screen on.

Where the time usually was, there was just a series of scrambled pixels.

“Hmmm, don’t like that,” said Crowley.   _Hmmm, don’t like that_ was something Crowley sometimes said when his unease was inexplicably rising.

“Well, it doesn’t matter what time it is anyway,” said Aziraphale.  “We don’t have any obligations until tomorrow morning.”

“Right.”  Crowley looked out the window, where the sun was starting to dip low on the horizon.  “And we can just go to sleep when we’re tired.”

Their next Jenga game ended up lasting even longer than the previous one.

“Just pick one!” Crowley yelled.

“This is why you always win!” Aziraphale jabbed back.  “Because you yell at me!”

Crowley huffed. Aziraphale yanked a block, and the tower collapsed.

“I told you!” Aziraphale shouted.

“All right,” said Crowley.  “We don’t have to play anymore. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“Bed already?  But it’s not even dark out yet.”

Puzzled, Crowley peered out the window again.  The sun hadn’t finished going down yet.  “…So it isn’t.  Watch a film, then?”

They ended up snuggling on the couch together and watching whatever forgettable film had been nominated for best picture that year.

“All right,” said Crowley when the credits rolled.  “ _I’m_ going to bed now.  You can do whatever you want.”

Crowley climbed the stairs, shedding clothes as he went.  He flopped into bed in nothing but his pants.

He burrowed under the covers.  The bed behind him dipped with a squeak of springs.  “Crowley?”

“Yes?”

“The movie was an hour and a half, wasn’t it?”

“Think so.  Why?”

“The sun still hasn’t set. Surely it must be at least nine or ten by now, right?”

Crowley rolled over and peeked out the bedroom window.  The sun had not moved a single inch since the first time he had noted its position. “Huh,” he said.   _Huh_ was something he said when something bothered him very much, but he had no way to correct it.

Aziraphale reached over and the lowered the shades.  “No matter. Let’s just get some rest.”  He wiggled up to Crowley, spooning him with a smile.

“Sounds good to me.”

* * *

Crowley sometimes had nightmares about Hell and being tortured, but there were times when the part of his brain that maintained that he deserved good things in life overpowered it.  This was one such time.

Currently, dream-Crowley was sitting on a beach looking out at the ocean.  He was in his favourite suit, but he was not hot because the beach was cool despite being sunny, as dream-logic tends to go.  He had some alcoholic beverage in a hollowed out coconut in his hand, which he sipped through an impossibly loopy straw.

A cherubic figure walked towards him through the sand.

“Aziraphale!” said dream-Crowley, waving his hand to beckon dream-Aziraphale closer.

The angel came over and plopped down on the sand.  “Goodness,” said dream-Crowley, “This certainly is a vivid one, isn’t it?  I swear I can feel the sand on my feet.” He spread out his feet and wiggled his scaly toes in the sand.

“It certainly is,” said dream-Aziraphale.  “Goodness.  But usually in my dreams, you’re naked.”

Dream-Crowley stared at him. “I’m—I’m naked?”

Dream-Aziraphale blushed. “Or in snake form.”

“Well,” said dream-Crowley, “it must just be because this is my dream, not yours.”

“No, this is my dream.”

The two of them stared at each other.

“Oh no,” said dream-Crowley.  “Is this one of those things where one of us is going to disappear as soon as the other wakes up?”

FINALLY, said a voice from the sky.

Aziraphale and Crowley both looked up to the sky in panic.

“Was that Azrael?” said Crowley.  “Are we dead? Are we already dead?”

The ocean in front of them boiled violently, instantly roiling and covered with steam, and a huge shape moved under the water.  Aziraphale and Crowley cursed and stood, backing away from the shore.

The shape breached the water, dragging itself up onto the beach, water draining off it into the sand. It had wings and limbs like an angel would, but neither of them had ever seen an angel like it.  Grains of sand ran from its head instead of hair, and water poured out from its eyes, which were like two pinpricks of light in a gaping void of a sclera.  It sunk its fingers into the moist sand of the beach, dragging itself forward, starry wings flaring out behind it.

“Ahh!” said Aziraphale.

“Wh-who are _you?”_ said Crowley.

The eyes disappeared and reappeared behind a blink.  CROWLEY,said the same voice, AFTER ALL THIS TIME WE’VE SPENT TOGETHER, YOU DON’T EVEN RECOGNISE ME?

“I’ve never seen you before in my life!”

The huge creature’s gaze remained on Crowley, burning like the cores of two stars.  WE SPENT THE ENTIRE NINETEENTH CENTURY TOGETHER.

Aziraphale let out a gasp. “S-sleep?”

“Sleep?” said Crowley wildly.

“Sleep is a foundation angel.”

The huge angel dragged itself closer.  I’M RIGHT UPSET WITH YOU TWO.

“Us?” said Crowley. “What did _we_ do?”

TIME HAS STOPPED, AND IT’S YOUR FAULT.

“Our fault?!” Aziraphale exclaimed.  “Neither of us are powerful enough to stop time!”

Sleep stood upright, then kicked sand at the two of them.  Sleep was quite a deal larger than either of them, so it went right in their eyes.

FIX IT,said Sleep.  I CAN’T DO MY JOB BECAUSE BEDTIME NEVER COMES.

Aziraphale sputtered to get sand out of his mouth.  “Now you listen here!  We have no idea what you’re talking about, and frankly this amounts to nothing more than petty bullying!”

Sleep kicked sand over them again.  Aziraphale tried to clear his eyes.  “Stop that!”

“Look,” said Crowley, brushing himself off, “maybe we can help, but we don’t know what’s going on.  You have to talk to us.”

Aziraphale and Crowley woke up at the same time.  They both sat straight up, rubbing grains out of their eyes.

“What the hell was _that?_ ” said Crowley.

Aziraphale reached over and picked up his mobile from the nightstand.  “Oh, I think my ringtone woke us up.”

“Sweet somebody,” said Crowley, cocooning himself back up in covers.  “What a bloody weird dream.”

Aziraphale flipped his phone open to see a text message from Angelo that said _Is this what daylight savings time is, or is that something different?_

He flipped it shut, slid it back onto the nightstand, and curled up next to Crowley once more. “I’m afraid it wasn’t just a dream.  Sleep is one of the angels under Death.”

Crowley groaned, pulling a pillow over his head.  “I was afraid you were going to say something like that.”

Aziraphale looked out the window.  The sun was still hovering near the horizon, exactly where it had been when they had gone to bed.  Then, he flipped his phone open again to see that the timestamp on Angelo’s text message was made up of four empty boxes with a colon between them.

* * *

They ended up staying in bed for as long as they felt like, since Aziraphale no longer had anything with which to judge when he should get up.

Crowley eventually called it quits, because there’s a definite limit to how comfortably one can lie in bed when they have just been visited by an ominous figure in their dreams.

“I don’t suppose you have an hourglass?” said Crowley, sliding into his trousers.

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” said Aziraphale, pulling his shirt on.

Crowley fastened his belt. “I wanted to see what would happen if we flipped it over.  Time has _stopped…_ ”  He tapped his chin.  “What about a water clock?”

“What?”

“A water clock?  If you try to measure the passage of time with something as simple as gravity, there’s no way it could fail, right?”

Aziraphale grunted.  “Let’s give it a try.  I’ll find some suitable bowls.”

Crowley slipped into the bathroom under the stairs, hoping to wash his face to try and rid himself of the sensation of sand.

When he turned the faucet knob, nothing happened.

He suddenly realised he could see his breath, and ice frosted the bathroom window.

“Ahh…” said Crowley, coming back out and finding Aziraphale in the kitchen.  “Think your pipes are frozen.”

“Frozen?” said Aziraphale. “Oh, dear.  It was supposed to snow today.  Er…”

“ _Today_ …” said Crowley, tasting the word on his lips. His serpentine tongue flicked out, then he dashed out the front door.

A quilt of snow was lain out on the sidewalk of Aziraphale’s shop.  And nowhere else.

Crowley’s eyes roved up to the square of clouds above Aziraphale’s shop.  They were still disgorging snow, and they were perfectly positioned above their residency to blanket it, leaving the buildings on either side untouched.

“Oh, very funny!” Crowley shouted up.  

A head with long blue hair appeared, peeking over the clouds. 

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

An angel with blue skin leapt down from the cloud, landing gracefully in the snow without a sound. She smiled, and her teeth were icicles. CROWLEY, I PRESUME?

Her voice was light and airy, the opposite of Death’s, but it held an edge, the faint threat that if you ignored her, bad things would happen to you.

“Yes,” said Crowley, trying to backpeddle into politeness.  “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.  I don’t know _your_ name.”

WINTER,said the angel.  AND THE FIRST SNOW OF THE SEASON WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN SOON.  EXCEPT IT CAN’T, BECAUSE THE SEASONS AREN’T CHANGING OVER.  AND THE SEASONS CAN’T CHANGE OVER, BECAUSE TIME ISN’T MOVING FORWARDS.  AND NOW I CAN’T DO MY JOB.

“All right, all right,” said Crowley, with what he hoped was a placating hand gesture.  “Why don’t you come in and talk?”

Winter’s feet laced intricate designs of ice over Aziraphale’s floor as she followed Crowley in.  “Aziraphale, put the kettle on!” Crowley called into the shop.  “We have a guest.”

A few minutes later found Aziraphale and Crowley nervously sharing tea with the foundation angel.  Winter picked up her cup of tea, and it froze solid instantly.

“Er,” said Crowley. “So, will you tell us what exactly is happening with time right now?”

TIME,said Winter, IS UPSET.

“It’s…upset?” said Crowley.

Winter turned her cup upside-down, and the hunk of frozen tea fell out.  She picked it up and put it in her mouth, sliding it down her throat. THANK YOU FOR THE TEA.  IT WAS DELICIOUS.

“Sure, sure,” said Aziraphale.  “But, um… You said time... it’s upset?”

NOT IT, said Winter. HE.  AND YOU ARE TO BLAME.

Aziraphale looked alarmed.   Crowley suddenly realised that making enemies with a foundation angel might be even more dangerous than having someone like Uriel hate you, especially one as powerful as Time.

“But what did we _do?_ ” said Aziraphale.  “I’ve never even met Time.  I’ve never interacted with any of the foundation angels.”

Winter seemed to be seething.  TIME HAS JUST LEARNED OF LUCIFER’S DEATH.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “ _Oh._ ”

“Were those two close?” said Crowley.

Winter reached out and stuck her finger in Crowley’s cup of tea, which solidified around her finger. She then pulled it out and started to lick it like a popsicle.  BEFORE THE FALL.

“Oh no,” said Crowley.

I DEMAND THAT YOU FIX THIS, said Winter.

“Okay, how?” said Aziraphale.

I DON’T KNOW,said Winter.

“Couldn’t you go talk to Time?” said Crowley.  “I doubt he’d want to talk to _us_.”

Winter sat back and crossed her arms.  TALK TO HIM? _TALK TO HIM?_  FOUNDATIONS DO NOT— and here she lifted her hands and made air quotes, the icicle of tea bending awkwardly as she did so—TALK TO EACH OTHER.

“Er, okay,” said Crowley, veering away from that line of thought.  “Where is he right now?  Maybe I could talk some sense into him.”

Winter blinked.  HOW SHOULD I KNOW THAT?

“Well how should _we_ know?” said Crowley, exasperated.  “What exactly do you want us to do if we don’t have anything to go on?”

I DON’T KNOW, said Winter, clearly very upset.  BUT FIX IT NOW.  IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SNOWING.

“Can’t you just, er, I don’t know,” said Aziraphale.  “Make it snow anyway?”

YOU REALLY DON’T HAVE ANY IDEA HOW ANYTHING WORKS, DO YOU? said Winter.  She pointed to the palm of her hand angrily.  IT SNOWS ON NOVEMBER 4TH, AND NO SOONER.  AND IT’S NOT NOVEMBER 4TH.  IT’S NOVEMBER 3RD.  AND IT’S GOING TO BE NOVEMBER 3RD FOREVER UNLESS TIME DOES HIS JOB.  DON’T YOU KNOW ANYTHING?   

“No, he doesn’t,” said Crowley.  “But listen, if you can help us find Time, maybe we could talk to him and get things going again.  If you don’t know where he is, do you know someone who does?”

DEATH PROBABLY DOES, said Winter.  HE KNOWS THOSE KINDS OF THINGS.

“All right,” said Crowley. “Okay, I have an idea.  But it’ll involve calling in favours with both Heaven and Hell, and it might work, but it might also just get us yelled at.”

* * *

_Crowley,_

_Uriel wasn’t too happy about it, but I did manage to look in the Book of Life and find the information you were looking for.  The next death that was scheduled to happen is at the attached address.  Stay safe._

_-The archangel Victoria_

When they sent the request down to Hell, Beth came up with her bags packed for a day trip, looking at the letter from Heaven unsurely.  “Okay, so we’re going to, what?  Go talk to Death?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “And do you remember how when I was moping about because I had lost Crowley, you slapped me and pulled me out of it?  We need you to do that to Time itself.”

“Ah…” said Beth. “Okay, I can give it a try.”

The address Victoria gave them turned out to be, not surprisingly, a hospital.  Crowley hypnotised the nurse that tried to get them to go get visitor’s passes, and Aziraphale and Beth went into the room behind him.

A withered old man lay in the hospital bed in the center of the room, and standing next to him was a skeletal figure in a leather jacket.  Death was looking at his wrist.

“Ah, hello there,” said Aziraphale tentatively.

Death looked up at them, his visor shining their reflections back at them.  He tapped his watch with one bony finger.  FUNNY, HE WAS SUPPOSED TO DIE AT 7:39.  BUT IT’S 7:38, AND MY WATCH WON’T MOVE FORWARDS.

“That’s what we’re here to try and fix,” said Crowley.  “Do you know where Time is?”

DO I KNOW WHERE HE IS?  OF COURSE.  AND YOU ARE GOING TO WHAT?  TALK TO HIM?

“That was the plan,” said Beth with exaggerated bravado.

Death’s face would have been unreadable even if his visor had been lifted.  ALL RIGHT.  YOU ARE WELCOME TO TRY.  BUT I’LL WARN YOU THAT NOT ALL FOUNDATION ANGELS ARE EASY TO TALK TO AS I AM.

* * *

Time turned out to be sulking on top of a mountain, staring out at the frozen sunset.  Aziraphale and Crowley beckoned Beth to go speak to him, afraid to get any closer, and hovered in the background too far away to even hear anything.

Time sat on a ledge with his knees drawn up, twiddling a piece of grass in his fingers.  Beth came up behind him.  “Hello there,” she said tentatively.

Time drew his head up, but did not look back at her.

Beth scooted forwards and sat next to him, still too afraid to look directly at him.  “My name’s Beth.”

I DO NOT DO FAVOURS FOR HUMANS,said Time in a rattling voice.

Beth finally looked over at him.  He had analogue clocks for eyes, both of which had second hands that were flicking in an attempt to move forwards, only to fall back into place.  He had a sundial for a nose, set above a blinking display reading _12:00_ in place of a mouth. And on his chest was a strange mechanic, two strips of metal bent into teardrop shapes facing away from each other, covered in tickers that flicked slowly around.  Clear water streamed from his face and down his metallic skin.

Beth took him in for a minute, then realised he might think it rude if she stared at him and looked away, back out at the sky.  “I’m not asking for a favour.  I just want to talk.”

Water dripped rhythmically from somewhere nearby.  GO AHEAD THEN, said Time.

Beth reached over and patted his knee.  “Why don’t you talk first instead?  It’s obvious you’re really upset.”

Time’s unblinking gaze fixed on her.  I DO NOT GET UPSET.

Beth shrugged.  “Sure you don’t.  I bet you never fly into a tantrum and abruptly quit doing your job, either.”

Time looked away from her. NOBODY EVER NOTICES ME UNLESS I STOP DOING MY JOB.  DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT FEELS LIKE?

“Well, I’ve worked in customer service, so yeah,” said Beth.  “Come on, you can open up to me. I won’t tell anyone else whatever you want to say.  Scout’s honour.”

ALL RIGHT, said Time. I’LL TELL YOU SOMETHING I’VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE ELSE.

“Go for it,” said Beth. “I’d love to hear it.”

BUT ONLY IF YOU TELL ME SOMETHING _YOU’VE_ NEVER TOLD ANYONE ELSE FIRST.

“That’s fair.”  Beth leaned back, palming the grass.  “I was kind of happy when my husband died.”

 _Drip drip drip_ went the water from somewhere on Time’s body, the only sound in the mountain air.

“I got to go up to Heaven,” said Beth.  “And my daughter was there, and he wasn’t.  And there’s a reason for that, I guess.” 

Time listened without comment.

“And one day I got a phone call saying, hey, your hubs is dead, sorry about that.  And…”  She clenched her fists.  “And I just felt _guilty,_ because I knew I should feel _sad_ , but I didn’t, I just felt relieved.”  She laughed a little.  “I guess I don’t need to complain about feeling like a monster to a guy with clocks for eyes.”

Time did not respond.

“And then…and then they told me that my daughter had been in the car with him, and…”  Tears welled in Beth’s eyes.  “And _that’s_ when it came crashing down on me.  When someone you care about so much, just…”  She snapped her fingers.  “Just like that.  Gone.”  She smiled.  “There, I’ve done my part.  Now, what were you going to tell me?”

One of Time’s spindly fingers came up and traced the metallic design on his chest.  I KNEW THAT ARMAGEDDON WOULD NOT PROCEED AT THE APPOINTED TIME AS SOON AS IT WAS ANNOUNCED.

“Really?” said Beth.

I HAVE ACCESS TO ALL HUMAN-CREATED METHODS OF TIME-KEEPING, said Time.  AND THIS DESIGN ON MY CHEST IS A PIECE THAT HAS NOT BEEN INVENTED YET.

Beth looked at the wire frame welded to his chest, noting the ticker marks flipping over.  She had no guess as to how to read it.  “That’s really interesting.”

NOW I WOULD LIKE TO ASK YOU A QUESTION, said Time.  AND IN RETURN YOU MAY ASK ME A QUESTION.

“That’s fair.”

WHY WERE YOU RELIEVED TO SEE A LOVED ONE DIE?  IT IS ILLOGICAL.

She played with a bit of grass she had ripped up.  “Because I was starting to loathe him.  Because I was older, and only just then realizing how bad he was for me.  But you should know that feelings don’t always make sense.”

AND YOUR DAUGHTER? said Time.  DID YOU LOATHE HER?

“No,” said Beth.  “She was one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

THEN HOW DID YOU DEAL WITH LOSING HER?

Beth smiled.  “Hey, we said one question, didn’t we?”  

Time drew his knees closer to himself.

“So now I’ll ask you one: Why did you stop time?”

Time stared out at the distance.  BECAUSE SEEING THE SUNSET WOULD BE TOO PAINFUL FOR ME.

Beth reached out and put a hand on top of his.  “And why’s that?”

WE AGREED ONE QUESTION.

“All right,” said Beth. “Then I’ll answer one more.  I delt with losing her by accepting that I was living in a world without her, a world that was a little darker, a little more lonely. But a world nonetheless.”

A LITTLE DARKER, said Time, staring out at the sun. 

“Yes.”

LUCIFER’S NAME MEANS “LIGHT-BEARER.”  DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID BEFORE HE FELL?

“What?”

HE MADE THE SUN RISE EVERY DAY.

 _Drip drip drip drip_. 

“The two of you were close?” said Beth.

I MADE MORNING COME JUST TO SEE HIM BRING THE SUN UP, said Time.

“Then who’s doing it now?” said Beth.

I DON’T KNOW,said Time.  THEY THREW HIM OUT AS IF HE WERE TRASH.  AND I’M POSITIVE THEY WOULD DISCARD ME JUST AS EASILY. 

“Aw, come on,” said Beth. “I’m sure they wouldn’t.  I mean, no one’s come to do it yet, right?  And they’d be pretty upset about you stopping time.”

I SUPPOSE, said Time. I WANT TO SAY SOMETHING ELSE I’VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE, BUT YOU HAVE TO ASSURE ME YOU WILL NOT TELL ANYONE ELSE.

“I won’t.  Scout’s honour.”

BUT YOU HAVE TO TELL ME ONE MORE THING YOU’VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE ELSE.

“I’m actually fresh out of deep, dark secrets,” said Beth.  “Sorry.”

OH,said Time.

_Drip drip drip_

“You won’t just tell me anyway?”

NO.

Beth sighed and leaned back. “All right.  There’s one thing.  My last deep, dark secret I’ve never told anyone.  You’re sure you want to hear it?”

YES.

Beth stretched her legs out. “When I was a kid, I had a really, _really_ intense crush on Kovu from _The Lion King II._ ”

Time did not respond.

“You never said it had to be something you understood.”

ALL RIGHT, said Time.  THAT’S TRUE.  SO I’LL TELL YOU THIS:  LUCIFER FELL BECAUSE OF ME.

“Because of you?”

YES.  BECAUSE OF SOMETHING I SAID.

“What did you say?”

IT WAS ONE QUESTION ONLY.

“Aw, come on,” said Beth. “That thing I told you about _The Lion King_ is really, really embarrassing.”

 _Drip drip dip._  Time didn’t answer.

Beth reached over and put a hand on his.  “You know, if you wanted to start time moving forward ag—”

YOU ARE NO _DIFFERENT_ FROM THEM.  Time cut her off with a voice booming like a chiming clock tower, and when he spoke next every other word was punctuated by the _bong_ of a clock striking midnight.  NO _ONE_ IS _INTERESTED_ IN _ANY_ OF _US_.   _ONLY_ OUR _USEFULNESS_ , OUR _JOB_ , OUR _OBEDIENCE_.

“He has a son, you know,” said Beth, arranging her hands on her lap.

The cacophonous sound from Time stopped abruptly with the sound of a spring snapping.  He looked at her.  WHAT?

“Lucifer.  He has a son.”

The hands on the clocks of Time’s eyes flipped up to the twelve for a moment before falling back down.  BUT IF SOMEONE LIKE LUCIFER WERE TO MANAGE TO BREED, IT WOULD CREATE A BEING OF INCALCULABLE POWER.

“He has two, actually. Two sons.”

Time faced away from her, refusing to look at her.

“I’ll take you to meet them,” said Beth.  “If you like. I’m not trying to bully you.  But you’re causing an awful lot of problems for a lot of people, and it’s making things quite difficult for them.  And I won’t be friends with people who make things difficult for others on purpose.”

Now Time turned to eye her up.  FRIENDS?

She shrugged.  “It sounds like that’s what you wanted, isn’t it? That whole spiel about no one caring about you?  It’s not like I haven’t heard it before.  I can take you down to meet Lucifer’s family, but only if you’re not a complete jerk.”

_Drip drip drip…_

Time looked up at the sky and blinked.  From somewhere within his body, a steady ticking started up again.  And Beth watched as the sun slowly continued its journey, sliding down the sky towards the horizon.

Beth did not say anything until the sun was fully obscured by the mountains and the stars started to wink on one by one.  Then, she patted Time’s knee.  “There, see? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Time leaked water from one of his water clocks without comment.

“All right, then,” said Beth, standing up and stretching.  “Come on, it’s a bit of a hike down.”

* * *

Aziraphale woke up the next morning to find a letter addressed to him and Crowley on Hell’s parchment. It was signed from both Adam and Noah, and when he opened it, a Polaroid picture of the two of them doing silly poses with a very serious-looking foundation angel fell out. 

Aziraphale picked it up and smiled at it, tacking it to the cork-board above his desk.  Down below, the door to the bookshop slammed open, and Crowley could be heard stomping about, complaining loudly about the weather.  Aziraphale looked out the study’s window and saw beautiful, delicate snowflakes beginning to patter onto the windowsill.


	11. Before the Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was to answer an unfilled prompt from this past Holiday Exchange! :D AO3 doesn't let you designate individual chapters as gifts, so sorry about that!
> 
> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/170133695620/your-own-side-outtake-11-before-the-fall (go there for the details! :D)

_Before time began_

Cralael was bored.

This was not unusual for a healer.  Heaven was a perfect sphere where trouble, illness and injury, did not exist. Healers were bored quite often. Cralael usually staved off boredom by killing time with his friend Ramial, but she was elsewhere at the moment.

The healers could not quite figure out what their purpose was.  This especially bothered Cralael, who was particularly bright and particularly inclined to ask questions others would usually “shush” him for.

“Where did you say you were going again?”

Cralael eyed the cherub in front of him, who was nervously shaking his wings out and adjusting his gear.  “I’m going to Earth.”

“God’s latest favorite pet project.”

“In so many words, yes.”

“And you’re doing _what_ there?”

“Guarding a gate,” said the cherub.  “The Eastern one, specifically.”

Cralael stared at him.  “Guarding it from w _hat?_ ”

“Er…” said the cherub, colouring.  “I don’t know.  But it doesn’t matter, does it?  Orders are orders.”

“Isn’t it exciting?” said the angel beside Cralael, an overly enthusiastic principality by the name of Orial, who was practically fawning over the cherub. “Show us your sword again.”

The cherub lifted up his sword, and it burst into flame.  Orial clapped with evident delight.  “Amazing!  Excellent!”

“But what’s going on down there?” said Cralael.  “Why do we need swords and stuff?”

“I can’t wait to go down there!” Orial.  “That’ll be my job, I’m sure of it.  I’m a field agent.”

“But what do we need field agents _for?_ Who are we fighting?”

Orial waved her hand.  “I’m sure it’s nothing like that,” she said.  “But I _bet_ it’ll be fun to investigate the Creation.  Don’t you think?

Cralael had not been provided with enough information to pique his curiosity just yet.  He just knew the Creation existed as a murky concept he was not allowed to visit or, apparently, know about.

Cralael left Orial to continue fawning over the future Guardian of the Eastern Gate, who still seemed rather unsure of himself.  

The brief encounter had not been enough to relieve his boredom.  He went back to the infirmary and walked around aimlessly, until another angel caught him by the shoulder and told him Ramial was looking for him, and told him where she was.

Relieved, Cralael headed over.  He found Ramial in one of the concert rooms, which lay empty.*  She was sitting by an abandoned harp, strumming it idly.

* * *

* _Choir_ is a bit of a misnomer for angels. Not all of them are musically inclined.  Neither Ramial nor Cralael knew how to play any of the instruments in the room.

* * *

Cralael took a seat next to her on one of the benches.  “So what were you up to?”

“Adraphale asked me to listen to his latest composition,” said Ramial, plucking out a few discordant notes on the harp.  “He’s still working on it.”

“Was it any good?”

“Oh, yes.  He’s a very good singer.”

With a _twang_ , the wire under Ramial’s finger snapped, and she recoiled.  “Ah!  Oh no!”

“Ah!” said Cralael.

They both sat there, unsure of what to do.

“I broke it,” said Ramial.  “Oh no. I’m going to get in trouble.”

Cralael stood up, scratching his chin.  “No, you’re not.”

“Why do I always break something?” Ramial said, with a tremor in her voice.

Cralael knelt and wiggled the edge of the wire that was still attached to the harp.  It snapped off in his hand, completely detaching the wire from the wooden frame.  Then he looked around the room, dashed over to a tapestry on the wall, and hid the wire behind it.

Ramial watched him with amazement as he sat back down at winked at her.  “By the time anyone notices the wire is missing, it’ll be too late to tell who did it.”

Ramial burst into laughter, putting her head on his shoulder.  “You’re so bad.”

The two of them sat there in silence, enjoying each other’s company, two absolutely naïve and innocent creatures who had yet to experience real hardship, blissfully oblivious to the firestorm that was coming.

Ramial turned her head up and kissed Cralael.  Neither of them had kissed before, anyone, ever, but it felt right.

They were both smiling when they pulled back.  Ramial’s fingers worked at the harp again, playing a few light notes.

“Cralael, there you are!”

Cralael looked up to see a stocky warrior angel in the doorway, waving to him. Cralael scooted slightly away from Ramial and waved back.  “Hi, Boltha.”

“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute out here in the hallway?  Alone?”

“Uh, sure,” said Cralael, then to Ramial:  “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as they were out in the hallway, Boltha lowered his voice conspiratorially.  “Listen, Cralael, me and the rest of the unit have some plans tonight, and we were hoping you would come with us.”

“Plans?” echoed Cralael. “What kind of plans?”

“Big plans,” said Boltha, sounding delighted by the prospect.  “Really big.  It’s going to be really great.  But we were thinking, you know, since you’re a healer, you should come with us, in case we get hurt.”

“What?” said Cralael, alarmed.  “Are you doing something dangerous?”

“No, not really.  Well, maybe a little,” said Boltha, inventing understatement.

“I don’t know if you’re supposed to be doing that,” said Cralael.

“Aw, come on,” said Boltha.  “Won’t you at least come with us?  What if we get hurt?  What if we’re hurt and you’re not there?  We’re your friends, after all.”

* * *

Miriam was the only archangel that Cralael felt completely comfortable confiding in about absolutely anything.  She had that effect on people.  

He knocked on her door.  “Come in,” called out the archangel’s voice.

Cralael cracked the door open and stuck his head in to see Miriam at her desk with a bunch of different books propped open.  “Cralael!  Come in. What do you need?”

Cralael took a seat in front of her desk.  “I was hoping to talk to you about something.”

Miriam closed the book in front of her.  “You have my full attention.”

Cralael took a deep breath.  He suspected he might be punished for having such thoughts.  “Does it seem like…something else is coming?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Cralael, gesturing with his hands.  “Like, we have all these healers, but nobody ever gets hurt. So what are they for?  It’s almost like we were made in _preparation_ for something else, you know?  And I’ve been feeling this tension between the archangels, like they don’t all agree about things, and I thought they were supposed to be agree about everything.  And so much attention is being paid to Earth, but nobody really knows what’s going on down there, and…Well, it just all doesn’t add up quite right.”

Miriam waved him closer, and he leaned in.

“I think you’re exactly right,” Miriam whispered.  “Something is coming.”

“Really?” said Cralael.

“But I have no idea what it is.”

“Oh.”

Miriam flipped the book back open and started annotating it.  “Well, you can rest assured that no matter what happens, I will act for the good of the healing ward.  And you can feel free to bring to me any concerns you have. Anything else?”

“Er,” said Cralael.  “No, not really.”

“Good.  Then I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.”

Cralael vacated her office, feeling vaguely validated but no less confused. He made his way back into the lobby to exit the healing ward, only to see Boltha standing by the exit waiting for him.

“Hey, Cralael!” said Boltha, holding up his hand and giving him an enormous grin. “There you are!”

“What is it now?”

“I wanted to let you know about tonight.  Our unit is meeting up with the unit Jezerial leads.  We’re going to head to the throne plaza after we meet up. I’ll come find you in the healing ward just before the meeting time.  All right?”

Cralael hesitated.  “All right, I suppose.”

“Great!” said Boltha.  “See you then.”

Boltha motored out of the lobby.  He almost bumped into someone coming in, offered a cheery, “Excuse me!” and continued on his way.

The newcomer looked at Boltha disapprovingly, continued on her way in, and then immediately leaned over Cralael.  “And what were you discussing with him?” said Uriel.

“Er…” said Cralael.

Uriel stalked closer to him, and he took a few steps back to preserve his personal space.  This continued until he backed into a wall.

“I know something is going on,” said Uriel.  “And whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not allowed.  And I’ll find out what it is.”

Cralael averted his eyes safely to the floor.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Cralael dragged his eyes back up to her chest.  She spread her wings out and put an arm on the wall beside him, boxing him in. “Tell me what that warrior was just talking to you about.”

A hand appeared on Uriel’s arm, wrenching it away from Cralael, and Uriel stumbled and turned to see Miriam holding her with a vicelike grip.

“Let go of me,” said Uriel hotly.

She tugged her arm away, but Miriam pulled it back.  “Uriel,” said Miriam with artificial sweetness, “I told you that if you had any concerns with the healing ward, or any of the healers, you could feel free to come to me to address them.”

“I don’t need your permission to—”

Miriam’s grip on Uriel’s arm tightened as Uriel tugged to try and free herself, struggling to stay within the bounds of politeness.  “Oh, I know,” said Miriam.  “It’s not about permission.  It’s just that you’re being very _rude_ —”

She finally let go of Uriel’s hand, and Uriel pulled it back, rubbing it.  “This healer doesn’t know anything I don’t know,” said Miriam, smiling.  “That’s the point of our ranks.”  She turned to him.  “Isn’t that right?”

Cralael nodded.

“You see?  Now, I’m sure we’ve addressed your concern adequately.  Is there anything else you needed?  How are you feeling?”

Uriel flushed red with anger and turned around, storming out.  “Feel free to stop by any time!” Miriam called after her.

Miriam turned to Cralael.  “She’s in a foul mood.”

_She’s always in a foul mood_ is what Cralael wanted to say, but he had limits. “Thanks for handling that.”

Miriam looked pensive.  “Uriel senses something is wrong, and is trying to head it off before it disturbs the natural Order of things.  I wonder what she was after.”

“I don’t know,” said Cralael, inventing half-truths.

Miriam still looked deep in thought.  “Let me know if you find out anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

Miriam started to walk away.

“Miriam, wait.”

She turned back.

Cralael hesitated.  “That _something_ we were talking about….I think it’s coming tonight.”

Miriam looked at him very hard, sensing the double meaning in his words.  All she said was, “Do whatever you believe is right. If you do that, I’m positive God won’t fault you.”

Miriam was about to be very surprised.  A lot of people were.  Out of all the angels who would live through a nightmare that night, the healers would have it the worst, because they had all been created with gentle hearts, and they were about to be put to work for the first time in their existence.

* * *

Miriam was notorious for being the smartest of the archangels even fairly early on, so it was hardly surprising that she figured out what was happening first and tried to head it off before it reached the point of no return.

STAND DOWN, MIRIAM, said Lucifer.

Miriam was blocking the exit to the hall with her arms outstretched, and the rebel angels were all looking at her ambivalently.  “I’m begging you,” said Miriam.  “Just think about it.  Just calm down and give it some thought.  This plan is ludicrous, and it’ll only result in disaster.”

IF YOU’RE NOT WITH US, THEN I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY TO YOU, said Lucifer, drawing his sword.  ANYONE WHO WOULD STAND IN MY WAY IS A THREAT THE SAME AS _HE_ IS.

“Lucifer, wait,” said a warrior angel on his left, whose name was Baalberian. “Miriam can be reasoned with.  I’m sure she’ll take our side.”

“We can spare a few minutes before we leave,” said an archangel on his right, whose name was Agatha.  “He’s right.”

“What do you hope to accomplish?” said Miriam.  “I understand your dissatisfaction, but—”

I DON’T KNOW IF YOU _DO_ , said Lucifer, stalking towards her, sword held out.  A chorus of rebel angels behind Lucifer begged him not to be hasty.

“This is not the way to do it,” said Miriam.  “I want to help you, but I’m not going to ‘take your side.’”

THEN YOU’LL BE THE FIRST CASUALTY OF THE NIGHT, said Lucifer, ramming his sword straight through her.

* * *

Cralael chose to spend his time waiting for Boltha at the edge of the lobby, trying not to draw too much attention to himself in case someone asked what he was waiting for.

So he was standing right there when the doors banged open by a pair of bloodied hands and Miriam staggered in, the entire front of her tunic soaked red, her eyes glazed over with pain.

A gaggle of healers that had been chatting in the lobby whipped around in surprise as this happened, then immediately rushed to lay hands on her.  The lobby became a flurry of activity as the receptionist called more healers in.

“Hurry,” said Miriam between pained breaths.  “I need to get back out there.”

“What?” said a power named Raphael, who was pouring healing force into her as quickly as he could.  “What’s happening?”

“The rebellion is starting.”

* * *

Boltha managed to get Cralael’s attention through all the activity and frantically waved him outside. Cralael skirted the edge of the room and met him just outside the infirmary.

“I’m so glad you’re coming with us,” said Boltha, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him away.  “Things are starting to heat up.  Come on, we’re already pretty late as it is.”

“Cralael!”

Cralael managed to drag Boltha enough to slow down.  He turned back to see Ramial running out after him, waving her hands. “Wait!  Cralael!”

She reached him, panting.  “What?” he said.  “What is it?”

“Where are you going?” she said.

“I-I said I’d help his group,” said Cralael.  “That’s my job, after all.  To keep them healthy.”

Ramial looked at him, and she was struck by an inexplicable feeling that this was a turning point of some sort, that from then on things would be very, very different between them, and it scared her.  A lot.

“You’re going?” she said.

He nodded.

“I promise we’ll meet again,” said Ramial.  “No matter what happens.  I’ll find you.”

“Come on,” said Boltha.  “We’re late.”

“Then I’ll see you,” said Cralael, and he let Boltha pull him away, leaving Ramial standing in the gathering darkness in front of the infirmary, wringing her hands.

“I-I don’t know if this is—is really a good idea, Boltha,” said Cralael as they made their way down the golden street.

Boltha stopped, panting.  “What? You don’t want to come?”

Cralael cringed.

“But what if we get hurt?  What if we get hurt and you aren’t there to help us?”  His voice was laden with the tinge of panic unique to one who’s just realising they’re in over their head.  “I promised them I’d be there.”

Cralael’s gut said he needed to cut his losses before anything serious happened, but his heart said his friend needed his help, as did his friend’s fearful face.

It was growing dark as they slunk through the streets, which was something that didn’t normally happen.  The sky was grey and heavy with clouds.  A flash of thunder erupted, grumbling ominously.  Boltha and Cralael both froze at the flash of light, then unsurely continued on their way.

They met up with the rest of the group.  The sounds of swords clashing against each other, which had previously only been heard during friendly sparring, now echoed much more threateningly in the distance.

“Let’s go,” said Boltha.  “The plaza for the throne room.”

“Lucifer has engaged Michael,” said Jezerial as they moved swiftly towards the source of the noise.  “The rebel forces had the element of surprise.  They’re holding the square.”

“Really?” said Boltha, disbelieving, and for good reason.

They crested the hill, and now they saw the battle taking place in full.

“Oh fuck,” said the angel who would be known as Botis in a few minutes, inventing swearing.

* * *

Lucifer had truly, genuinely, honestly believed that he could best Michael in a one-on-one fight, and now he wasn’t sure why.

The sky had darkened, clouds rumbling threateningly, and lighting occasionally shot out between the two of them.  The sound of their swords hitting each other was almost identical to the waves of thunder that swept over the roiling battlefield beneath them.

Michael had been crying the entire fight.  Lucifer would have thought it was pathetic, except that Michael was still soundly besting him despite his vision being blurred with tears.  And Lucifer couldn’t count on any help from his rebel generals, because he had promised that none of them would have to face Michael, because they had all been terrified of the possibility.

“Brother!” Michael shouted, for what must have been the tenth time in the last ten minutes.  “Please! Put down your sword!”

Lucifer made another lunge, and Michael parried with such force that Lucifer’s sword flew out of his hand, twirling over and over with flashes of light until it disappeared among the fighting below.

Michael pointed his word at Lucifer, and the two looked at each other, breaths heaving, huge wings beating.  The clouds above them growled and roiled.

Michael lowered his sword.

“Sir!” said a voice, and Agatha appeared with a flash of green wings. “Lucifer!  We’re suffering heavy casualties!  I don’t know how much longer we can hold the square.”

“Please give up,” said Michael, voice warbling.  “It’s not too late to fix this.  We can fix this.  We can make everything go back to the way it was.  Please just stop the fighting.”  He held a hand out to Lucifer.  “Just tell them to stop.”

Lucifer looked at Michael’s hand, and at Agatha, and his whole body sagged.

Michael smiled through his tears.  “It’s okay. I promise it’ll be okay.  It’s not too late.”

Lucifer nodded.  And then he exploded into flames.

* * *

The events of that night would be remembered many different ways by many different people.  The demons would all have a certain puzzling fog over their memories, clouded by the fall. The angels would remember what bits they did with horrifying clarity.

Even the angels who remembered it perfectly would still believe, even centuries and millenia later, that Michael had driven Lucifer out of Heaven, not really understanding what had happened, not having heard what Michael had been saying to Lucifer.  Even Agatha, who would later claim the name Agares for herself, who had been right there when it happened, remained convinced that Michael harnessed some terrifying power granted just for the occasion to hurl Lucifer into Hell among fire and brimstone.

What really happened was this.

Uriel was summoned to the throne room and was given a list.  And then she ran.  But there was no running from those orders.

The row of windows to her left showed a dark sky, unnaturally dark for Heaven, and fires and lighting bolts that served as illumination cast ominous shadows on everything she ran past.  The sound of battle raged frighteningly close.

A particularly metallic thunderclap boomed out, the sound of mighty weapons clashing, and she could hear Lucifer’s and Michael’s voices shouting indistinctly.

_Please stop,_ she thought.   _Please stop so I don’t have to do this.  I tried to stop this, and you went ahead and did it anyway._

Panting, she descended a staircase three steps at a time, coming out into the main foyer, about to depart and make her way over to the hall where the Book of Life was kept.  Someone was coming in from an adjacent door, someone with raven-black hair, whose tunic was soaked with blood but who appeared unhurt--or rather, hurt, and then quickly made un-hurt again.

Miriam looked at Uriel with startled eyes, reaching a hand out, as though to grab her.  “Uriel!  Are you okay?  Are you hurt?”

Uriel’s chest heaved, and she looked back at her wildly.  “Hurt?  No, I’m not hurt.  Are _you—?_ ”

Miriam drew her robes about herself and hustled closer.  “Where are you going?  Maybe I can help you.”

“No one can help me,” said Uriel.

Miriam stopped.  “Has God given you a command?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.  I can help. Anything to stop this fighting. There are too many wounded for us to keep up with even working at full capacity.”

Uriel shouldn’t have told her.  But perhaps she just couldn’t stand having that weight on her chest.  And Miriam was always the sort of angel you felt comfortable confiding in.  “God told me to take them out of the Book of Life.”

“What?” said Miriam with growing horror.

A low explosion groaned through the walls, rattling the elegant draperies and decorations, half-hidden in shadow.

“I have to destroy their pages.”

“You can’t,” said Miriam.  “You can’t do _that._ ”

“It is what God commanded.”

Miriam looked down at the floor, eyes flittering back and forth, then up to Uriel again.  “But you don’t know what’ll happen to them if you do that.  They might die.  They might become something worse than dead.”

“Then so be it!” Uriel said.  “They have brought this on themselves!”

Uriel brushed past Miriam, marching towards the exit.

“They trust you!” Miriam thundered, anger growing.  “You have unimaginable power over them!  And you are just going to sacrifice them—for what?”

“Lucifer’s factions are far from meek victims!” Uriel shot back.  “They launched an attack directly on Michael unprovoked!  It was a calculated attempt to overwhelm Heaven’s defenses as quickly as possible!”

Miriam caught up to Uriel, and she grabbed her by the sleeve, yanking her back. “Would you just do any horrible thing God commanded you to?” she demanded.  “Don’t you ever question the value of what you’re told to do?”

Uriel wrenched Miriam’s arm off her.  “No, I don’t, as a matter of fact!  And neither should you!”

Miriam’s face went red.

“You’re going to be punished too,” said Uriel, with growing disquiet.  “You’re with _them._  The rebels. You’re on _their_ side of this whole thing.”

Miriam’s anger exploded, and she lobbed a fist at Uriel.  “ _That’s_ what you get out my concern? Really?   _That?_ ”

“It’s my job to maintain the Heavenly Order!” Uriel shouted, shoving Miriam back.

“Well you’re not doing a very good job of it, are you?”

They were both illuminated by a fireball blossoming outside the window in the distance.

“I have to do this,” said Uriel quietly.

“We have a choice,” said Miriam desperately.  “ _You_ have a choice.  We can choose our siblings, or we can choose our loyalty to Heaven.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

Miriam spun around, marching out, coat flapping behind her.  “Well, I know where _I_ stand.”

“Where are you going?”

“To save whoever I can.”

She watched as Miriam disappeared.  Her knees shook ever so slightly.  Then, she turned and went in the opposite direction.

She had to dodge combatants when she went outside, but no one would dare attack her, no, not _her,_ Uriel, the Keeper of the Divine Aura.  The sounds of Michael and Lucifer’s clash reined absolutely supreme on the battlefield, swords clashing with sounds like gongs ringing out.

The sounds dimmed as Uriel came into the hall and pulled the door closed behind her, breathing heavily.

The key was not to hesitate.  Because Uriel knew that if she lingered for even a single second, Miriam’s words would sink in, and she would question.  So she dashed over to the Book of Life, sitting on its pedestal in the darkened inner chamber, and threw it open.

It fell open directly to Lucifer’s page.

“You have brought this on yourself!” she screamed, then tore the page out.

Outside on the battlefield, Lucifer froze with his hand extended, sensing that something was horribly wrong.  Uriel felt him trembling, felt a connection to him through the page she held in her hand, that thread of his life that vibrated as she stroked it.

Holy fire sprang from Uriel’s hand, flames licking up the page and turning it to ash.  And she was immediately filled with an overwhelming sense of loss, of pain and fear and abandonment the likes of which she would never have been able to even imagine, rushing into her like a sword spearing her chest.

The sensation faded as Lucifer’s connection to Heaven disappeared.  The sound of battle fell still outside.

_Keep going_.   _Agatha is next._

The removal of Lucifer’s entry revealed the page belonging to Agatha, the Archangel of Grace.  The page tore out and went up in flames just as easily.

Uriel felt Agatha’s tumultuous emotions as she fell from Heaven into some unseen abyss, the terror coursing through her veins like a drug.  

By the time her hand was on the next page, tearing out the entry for the Archangel of Plenty, the sound of the fight from outside had been replaced by the din of confusion and panic as the rebel generals fell one by one, right in front of their supporters.

Uriel tore through the Book of Life like a ravenous pig set loose on a trough, clawing the entries out, burning them with hot hands, the feelings associated with falling pulsating through her again and again and again.  And the worst part was this:  She was starting to enjoy it.

“Burn,” Uriel hissed, surrounded by tongues of holy fire.  “Accept your punishment.”

She looked up in a shock to see that Azrael was standing in the doorway, watching her.  She snapped out of her trance, letting the Book fall back onto its podium, and she realised with an aching horror that she had finished the list of those to be sentenced and had started to tear out the pages of loyal soldiers.

Uriel convinced herself they had deserved it anyway.  Breath hitching, she yelled across the room at Azrael, “And what do _you_ want?”

THE FIGHTING HAS STOPPED, he said.  THE REBELLION IS OVER.  I JUST THOUGHT SOMEONE SHOULD TELL YOU.

Uriel smoothed back her hair.  “Of course. Thank you.”

Azrael turned and walked out, back into the silence that seemed so unnaturally loud after all the activity.  The door boomed shut, leaving her alone.

She clapped her hand over her mouth, sliding down to sit on her knees, tears streaming down her face.  “Have I done well, Father?”

Nobody answered her.

“Tell me I’ve done well, Father.  Tell me I did everything perfectly, just as You commanded me.  Please.”

Her plea echoed in the empty chamber, met with only silence.


	12. Loss of Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/170135546670/your-own-side-outtake-12-loss-of-control

_Present Day_

The chamber dedicated exclusively to keeping the Book of Life was dark and empty now, except for one figure hunching over the Book, which lay spread open on the ground.

Uriel ran her hand over the ragged remains of where pages had been torn out from the volume.  She still had the list of the Fallens’ original names burned in her memory.  She would never be able to forget it.

She could not quite remember in what order the pages had been torn out, though. But she had a very good guess which had been Cralael’s.

She touched the shredded bits of parchment at the binding on that page, her fingers feather-gentle.  Then, she took another piece of parchment lying next to the Book, on which had been hand-written everything Uriel could remember about Cralael’s entry in the Book, and laid it softly out in the spot where it should have been.

She took a needle and hooked it through, meticulously working to affix the page into the Book.  She bit the thread off to finish the process, then gently tugged it to make sure it was in there securely.

She sat cross-legged on the ground in front of the Book.  All was dark and quiet.

She knew it hadn’t worked.  The page she had artificially inserted coursed with none of the powerful magical energy that permeated the rest of the volume.  She shut the Book to be sure, but nothing happened.

She looked up to see someone standing in the doorway.  “Metatron,” she said.  “Tell me what to do.”

Metatron ambled down the carpet towards her.  “I thought that demon turned down your offer to—”

“H-he did,” Uriel stammered, quickly flipping the Book back open and excising the page she had tried to insert.  “I was just seeing if it would work.”  She crumpled the paper up and tossed it aside.

Metatron stopped in front of where she was still crouching on the floor.  

“Tell me what to do,” Uriel repeated.  “I was created to follow orders.  What am I supposed to do without them?”

Metatron looked down at her and said, “Uriel, get a life.”

She blinked at them.  Then, she rocketed up, enraged.  “You and I were _created_ to serve Him!  It is our entire purpose!  We are meaningless without Him!”

“That suits me just fine,” said Metatron.  

“What do you _mean?_ ” said Uriel.  “We are cogs in a machine that no longer runs! Heaven is in complete disarray. Angels are going about doing whatever they please.  Nobody follows my orders now, or yours.  We are _all_ purposeless.”

“The humans are purposeless,” said Metatron, hands in their pockets.  “As a species, they had a purpose, but individual humans?  No.  Nobody is giving them orders. They’re all deciding things on their own.  Do you think they all sit around moping about it?”

She stared at him.

“Or do you think they make their own lives meaningful?”

“You’re saying I should—”

“Get a life.  No one is telling you what to do anymore, so you decide to do nothing?  Why?”

They made aggressive eye contact.

“‘Why?’” said Uriel.  “That’s a question I’ve never heard you ask before.”

Metatron started to walk back down the carpet.  “Like I said, free will suits me just fine.  It might suit you, too, if you give it a try.”  They threw a glance back over their shoulder.  “What do _you_ want to do?”

“I—I—” said Uriel.  “I don’t—don’t know.”

Metatron shrugged.  “Then figure it out.  No one is stopping you.”

* * *

Aziraphale and Crowley were just coming home from a relaxing day of shopping when they opened their door to something equal parts horrifying and unexpected.

Aziraphale dropped his bags and materialised his sword, throwing himself in front of Crowley, who simultaneously drew his healing staff.

“Be still!” Uriel shouted with a voice like trumpets, drawing her wings out.

“Get back!” Aziraphale shouted, pushing Crowley further behind him.  “I won’t let you hurt him!”

“Er, that came out wrong,” said Uriel, more quietly.  “I meant just relax.”

Aziraphale paused, fire on his sword crackling.  “You’re not here for divine retribution or somesuch thing?”

“No. I just want to talk.”

Aziraphale made a face.  “That’s still pretty bad.”

Uriel seated herself on whatever was closest, which happened to be a stack of first editions that Aziraphale did not have the fortitude to tell her to get off of. “Aziraphale, Crowley, I need help.”

“I’ll say,” said Aziraphale.

She put her chin on her fist.  “I mean I want _your_ help, you deviants.”

“Off to a great start here,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale leaned on the counter and lowered his sword, but did not put it away. Crowley moved behind the counter, because the idea of having something between him and Uriel made him feel better even if in practicality it would do nothing.

“I’ve been contemplating free will,” said Uriel.  “Metatron is trying to run Heaven according to free will now.  But I don’t know if it’s working.”

“Free will?” echoed Aziraphale.

Uriel nodded miserably.  “They thought that might be the best direction to take Heaven in after what happened.  They have been inspired by Maltha.”

Aziraphale stood his sword up in the corner, then crossed his arms.  “And you wanted to…ah…ask us how to best…run Heaven according to free will?”

“Why else would I bring it up?” Uriel snapped.  “Don’t be stupid.”

Aziraphale clenched his jaw.

“Well your problem is right in your question,” said Crowley.  “You don’t _run_ something according to free will.  You just sort of…let others do as they will without controlling them.”

“But how can we assure everyone is using their free will to make the right decisions?” Uriel cried.

Crowley palmed his face.

“You don’t,” said Aziraphale.  “That’s the whole point.”

Uriel visibly struggled to take this concept in.  “But…” she said.  “But, that would totally upset the natural order of things.”

“Well, yeah,” said Crowley, tapping his knuckles on the counter.  “You kind of have to commit to that idea for it to work.”

“But…” said Uriel.  “B-but that’s my whole _point._  That’s who I am.”

Aziraphale shrugged.  “Well, maybe you could decide to be someone else, if you wanted to.”

“That is just what Metatron said.  And…” She clenched her fists.  “And I decided.  I _do_ want to be someone else. I want to change.   _I_ want free will, too.  Aziraphale, Crowley, will you help me?”

They looked at each other hesitantly.

“Ah, give us a second to talk,” said Crowley, pulling Aziraphale into the back room.

They huddled down, glancing at her over their shoulders to be sure she was not listening.

“Are we really going to do this?” said Crowley.  “I mean, we befriended and won over a slew of archdemons and archangels, but nobody quite like _this._ ”

“ _Like this_ of course being a polite way of saying a complete and utter sadist,” said Aziraphale.  “This could blow up in our faces in a major way if we mess it up.”  

“But what if we get it _right?_ ” said Crowley.  “Think about it.  Uriel is the last one who might have interest in restoring the world to the old order.  She’s powerful enough and has the motivation to try and force things back to the way they were between Heaven and Hell.  And the apocalypse.  And she just came to us asking us to help her not be that way anymore.”

“But _us_ , of all people—!”

“It would have to be someone who knows God is gone, who has the full picture. Who else?”

“She tried to kill both of us!”

“Look at it this way.  We’ve already hit rock bottom with her.  We’re past that point already.  It’s impossible to make her _more_ pissed off at us.”

“So what you’re saying,” said Aziraphale slowly, “is that it can only get better from here, because Uriel is already so horrible that we couldn’t possibly make her any _worse_.”

“Right.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath.  “All right. If you think it’ll work, we can give it a try.”

They broke the huddle and came back out.  “All right!” said Crowley.  “We’ll help you.”

“Excellent!” said Uriel.  “Where do we start?”

“Er…” said Crowley.  “Well, you said you wanted to change.  What kind of person do _you_ want to be?”

Uriel clenched her fists.  “I’ve given this a lot of thought.  And I want to be someone who’s nice and has a lot of friends.”

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other, overwhelmed by such a tall order.

“Ah…” said Crowley.

“I’ve already tried!” Uriel cried.  “I offered to make you an angel again, and you turned me down!  I don’t understand how I’m supposed to make friends if nobody will accept what I try to do for them!”

“Ah, that was something different,” said Crowley.  “Personal reasons and all that.  Don’t read too much into it.”

“Tell me what I’m doing wrong!” said Uriel.  “Please!  You have so many friends, and I have no one!  I want to be popular too—and—and _nice!_ ”

Aziraphale burst out before he could think about his words, “Can’t we start smaller?”

“Smaller?” said Uriel.  “You…you think I can’t do it?  You think I can’t be nice?”  Her voice rose in anger.  “You worthless creature!”

Aziraphale rubbed his temples.

“Well, you can start by not doing that,” said Crowley.

“Doing what?”

“ _That_ , what you just did.”

“Come on,” said Uriel.  “You did this for Maltha, and now everyone loves her!  I want that!  I want a redemption arc!”

Aziraphale and Crowley huddled back in the kitchen for another rapid discussion.

“How the _hell_ are we going to pull this off?” said Aziraphale.  “Any ideas?”

“We should try what we did for Maltha,” said Crowley.  “Try and make her fall in love with the Earth.  I’m positive Uriel’s never taken the time to appreciate it. Has she ever even left Heaven before this?”

“Not that I know of,” said Aziraphale.  “But do you really think that will work for someone like _her?_ ’

“You didn’t think it would work for someone like Maltha, either.”

Aziraphale bit his lip.

“All right,” said Crowley.  “I have an idea.  We take her shopping—”

“Shopping!”

“—Yes, if you recall that’s something we were _going_ to do with Maltha, but none of the shops had her sizes.  Uriel is a bit closer to human-sized.  We get her some normal clothes, and we take her to the amusement park Maltha liked so much, then a picnic lunch in the park, then drinks—”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to be _drunk_ around her?”

“—and then afterwards, we start working on the apologies.”

“Apologies?”

“She owes a _lot_ of them.”

“Point taken.”

They looked over their shoulders at Uriel, who gave them a little wave.

“I don’t trust her to make a real proper apology just yet,” said Aziraphale.

“Okay, how about this?” said Crowley.  “If she can go the whole day around the two of us without being horrible, then we can take her around for some apologies.”

“Sounds like a good place to start.”

They broke and went back over to Uriel.  She gave them a forced smile and said, “So, to whom will I be apologising?”

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other with mortification at the realisation that she had been hearing every word they said in the other room.

“Er…Who would you like to apologise to?” said Crowley.

“I think…Michael.”

“That’s a great idea!” said Crowley.  “Mykas, you mean.”

Uriel rubbed the back of her head.  “Er, I suppose…”

Aziraphale gave her a hard stare.  “Uriel.  Michael is a demon now, and he’s quite comfortable with it, and you’ll get nowhere if you aren’t, too.”

“But I don’t interact with demons,” whined Uriel.  “Not ever.  This is the first conversation I’ve ever had with hellspawn.”

“You had one with Maltha,” Crowley pointed out.

“That doesn’t count!” Uriel said.

“Look,” said Crowley, “you don’t think of demons as proper people the same way you do as angels.  It’s obvious to everyone talking to you.  You need to cut it out if you want to make friends with any of them.”

Uriel crossed her arms sourly.  “Wiley words, as usual, demon.”

“Here, you can practice on me,” said Crowley, pulling out a chair and sitting on it backwards.  “Go on.  Respect me as a unique individual.”

She looked at him hesitantly.

“Say something nice about him,” prompted Aziraphale.

“He is…” said Uriel,  “…not as odious as the rest of his kind.”

“Nope.  Try again.  Something nice _._ ”

“He inspires lust.”

“Something _nice._ ”

“He is…pleasant to look at.”

Crowley bore all this with good humour.  “There you go!  Getting warmer.”

“In this form, at least,” Uriel added quickly.  “I cannot say that about whatever other forms he may take.  I have it on good authority creatures of the Pit can be quite disgusting.”

“All right, that was pretty close,” said Aziraphale.  “You just need to cut it short and stop at the part right before you say the horrible stuff.”

“I think he is…merciful.”  She bit back whatever qualifiers may have been coming after that.

“Good!”

“And generous.”

“There we go!”

“Now thank him for saving your life,” said Aziraphale.

Uriel’s eyebrows furrowed together.

“Come on, it won’t hurt.”

“Thank you,” said Uriel, not without a considerable amount of difficulty, “for saving my life.”

“And now apologise to him.”

“What for?”

“For trying to pull his wings off.”

Uriel fingered the hem of her robe without making eye contact.

“Come on.  If you can’t apologise you’ll never get anywhere with making friends.”

Uriel strained.  The thought seemed to be causing her physical pain.

“No one is going to skewer you for admitting you were wrong,” said Crowley. “We don’t expect you to be perfect.”

Uriel stared at him unsurely.  Crowley gave her a nervous smile.

“I’m sorry for trying to pull your wings off,” said Uriel.  “It would have caused you a great deal of pain, and I’m glad I did not succeed.  And I’m sorry for all the awful things I said to you.  I was wrong.”

The last sentence seemed to hang in the air physically.  Uriel looked on the verge of tears.

Crowley stood up and extended his hand.  “I forgive you, Uriel.”

Uriel’s face took on an expression of manic happiness, and she clamped her hand over his and shook it vigorously.

“There, you see?” said Crowley, trying to pull his hand out, but failing. “Nothing to it!”

“Did you hear that, Aziraphale?” said Uriel.  “He forgave me.  I’m friends with this hellspawn now.”

“All right, now, let’s maybe not go that far,” Crowley tried to say, but Uriel trucked on and talked right over him to say, “This is great, this is perfect, I’m definitely ready now.  Let’s go.”

“Go where?” exclaimed Aziraphale.

“To apologise to Michael, of course!  Since I’m doing so well!”

Crowley finally managed to reclaim his hand.  “Let’s save that for last.”

“Oh, all right,” said Uriel.  “If you insist.  What first, then?”

“Hmm,” said Crowley.  “What size do you wear?”

* * *

Uriel was used to quite literally being the center of attention for her entire life. Her rank meant that when she had business with someone, they always dropped everything to pay attention to her instead.  So it was interesting, to put it generously, to watch her in an environment of a crowd of humans with which she had to blend in.

She didn’t apologise when she bumped into people, only looked disgruntled that there wasn’t enough room.  She straight-up told people who were standing in her way to move, without any qualifiers or softeners.  Once, she saw a woman pushing a stroller, and rushed up to fawn over the infant and tried to pick it up, and acted confused when the mother was alarmed and told her to go away.

The first clothing boutique they went to, Uriel walked up to an employee who was in the middle of helping someone else, interrupted her, and demanded to be assisted instead.  They ended up getting kicked out of that shop without buying anything because Uriel was fascinated with the mannequins and started taking one down, then refused to listen when _several_ managers came over and asked her to stop.

Back out on the street, Crowley took a deep breath.  “All right.  Uriel.”

Uriel did not look the least bit ashamed.  “Yes?”

“Maybe you’re not familiar with this, but you’ll have to follow a loose set of the rules field agents have to follow when they’re out on Earth.”

“Oh,” said Uriel.  “I hadn’t thought of that.  No, wait a minute.  The entire point of free will is that I can do whatever I want, even if it’s not right.  Isn’t it?”

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other, not liking that train of thought one bit and trying to figure out how to head it off.

“You _can_ , but sometimes you _shouldn’t_ ,” said Crowley.

“All right, listen,” said Aziraphale.  “Free will gives you a lot of power, but on Earth there’s a saying: That with great power, comes great responsibility.  A very famous Earth philosopher once said that, and it’s the rule for Earth.”

Crowley struggled to suppress his snickering beside him, which quite irritated Aziraphale.

“But I don’t have to follow the rules,” said Uriel.  “The point was I should be _less_ obsessed with the rules.”

“This is different,” said Crowley.  “This isn’t so much a rule as a…guideline.  It’s not a rule you have to follow because someone told you to.  It’s a suggestion someone is giving you because bad things will happen if you _’_ re not careful.”

“Bad things?” echoed Uriel.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale.  “You want your presence to have a positive impact on the world, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Uriel.  “I want to be a good person.”

“It’s good to question the rules,” said Aziraphale.  “Some of them are silly and all right to discard, and others are there for a reason, and you have to decide which are which if you want to be a good person.”

“There are certain standards of behaviour you need to uphold around the humans so as not to bother them,” said Crowley.  “Just follow our lead, and you’ll have it down in no time.”

Uriel gave him a thumbs-up and a very serious facial expression.

“All right,” said Crowley.  “What kind of clothing would you like?  You’re getting funny looks, so we should try and pick up the pace.”

Uriel started moving down the shopfronts at a near-jog.  “What are my options?”

Crowley ran to catch up and not let her out of his sight.  “Well, you could try something casual, or sporty, or you could try a dress, or a nice suit—”

Uriel gasped, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and pointed at a glass storefront, her finger colliding with it with such force that she almost broke her hand. “I want _that_.”

“Oh, ah…” said Aziraphale, eyeing the billowing white dress to which she had pointed. “This is a bridal shop.  You’re really only supposed to wear things like that when you’re getting married.”

Uriel dropped her hand slowly.  “The sacrament of matrimony.”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” She pressed her nose to the glass, looking inordinately disappointed.  Then, she turned her head back to Crowley.  “Is this one of those rules that are silly, or one of the rules that you’re a bad person if you break?”

Crowley hesitated.  “Well, it’s not like wearing a wedding dress around as regular clothing makes you a bad person.”

Uriel clenched her fists, turning to him with stars in her eyes.  “Then I want to wear that dress.”  

They were not able to talk her out of it.  A few minutes’ time found her inside the shop, getting her measurements taken by a bemused human who could not understand what was being said to her.

“Uriel,” said Aziraphale under his breath, “you’re speaking ancient Hebrew again.”

“So?” said Uriel as the human measured her waist.

“So Crowley and I are the only ones here who speak ancient Hebrew.  If you want to communicate with the humans, you have to speak a language they understand.”

Uriel didn’t seem to entirely grasp the concept.  She also seemed excited to have the shopkeeper take her measurements, but then nearly threw a fit when she found out the measurements were to _make_ a dress, which would take at least two weeks.

They succeeded in walking out with the window model which had so enamored Uriel in the first place, and that was probably because the shopkeeper was trying to get them to go away.  It didn’t fit her, but then it did after a discrete miracle.

Uriel tried on a pair of heels to go with the dress, then immediately kicked them off when she found out how it felt to walk in them.  They managed to convince her to put on a pair of flats instead to avoid her walking out barefoot, then bustled her out the door before she caught sight of the veils and fixed on wanting to try them on.

Uriel stood outside on the sidewalk looking delighted.  “All right, I’ve dressed myself in traditional human clothing.”

“…You certainly have,” said Crowley.

“What’s next?”

“We _were_ going to go to the amusement park next,” said Aziraphale.

“Then let’s go!” said Uriel, picking up the frills of her dress to start marching back from whence they had come.

* * *

Crowley was nervous to let Uriel in the Bentley, but the only comment she made about it was to call it a “chariot,” and then treat it as entirely unremarkable the whole ride over.

The poor teenager taking tickets at the entrance tried to help them find whatever wedding party was scheduled for the picnic tables, but she was having a hard time locating it herself.  Crowley ended up hypnotising her to save them all some time and explanation, and they were in.

Uriel looked up at the tall constructions uncomprehendingly.  “So what’re these tall machines for?”

“Amusement,” said Aziraphale.

“…Amusement?”

“We’ll show you,” said Crowley.

They had to once again use a small miracle to convince the ride operator to let Uriel onto a rollercoaster while wearing such a bulky item of clothing, but the bar came across her lap all right so they figured nothing would go wrong.

While the cart _click-click-clicked_ up the hill to the first drop, Uriel craned in her seat to look at Aziraphale and Crowley, who were sitting behind her. “So what’s the point of this part?”

“It’s for fun!” Aziraphale said.  “Just enjoy it!”

Uriel had her arms crossed and an unimpressed look on her face when they pulled back into the station.  “I still don’t understand the point of that.”

Aziraphale helped Crowley out, and the demon whispered, “Suppose some people who can fly might not find it very impressive.”

“Right,” said Aziraphale.  “Let’s try something else.”

“You know,” said Uriel while they waited in line for the bumper cars, “I can see why someone like Maltha would like this place. It’s utter chaos.”

Aziraphale offered Uriel some of the funnel cake he was eating, but she didn’t like the looks of it and he couldn’t convince her to eat any.  She was too preoccupied with watching the bumper cars.

“What are they _doing?_ ” she said, too loudly, as the humans bashed into each other. “What’s the goal?”

“There’s no goal,” said Crowley.  “They’re just doing it because they enjoy it.”

Uriel’s hands clenched the railing.

“Uriel?”

“But what’s the _point?_ ”

“There’s no point at all,” said Aziraphale.  “ _That’s_ the point.”

Uriel looked at Aziraphale with her eyes narrowed.

“Have you ever done anything for enjoyment, Uriel?” said Crowley.  “Something that, objectively, wouldn’t have any positive impact on anything important, but you did it anyway, just for enjoyment?”

“You’re asking me if I’ve ever done anything for enjoyment?” said Uriel.

“Yes.  Like when you picked out the dress, you picked one just because you liked it, not because it had any greater purpose.”

Uriel’s chest heaved, and her face grew red. “But you _made_ me pick out new clothes.  I didn’t do that because I wanted to.”

“I—”  Crowley threw his arms out.  “There’s no other way to say this.  It’s for _fun._  Have you ever had _fun?_ ”

Uriel’s breaths were coming fast and shallow. “Have I ever had _fun?_ ”

“Yes.”

“Have I ever done anything utterly useless _on purpose?_ ”

“ _Yes.”_

“Is that what bumper cars are?”

“Yes.”

Uriel fainted.

“Whoops,” said Aziraphale, catching her before she hit the railing, and Crowley started fanning her with a park map.  Aziraphale looked up at the questioning glances they were getting from everyone nearby and said cheerfully, “Just a bit of nerves on the big day, you know how it is!”

Uriel came to a few seconds later, looking flustered.  She pushed Aziraphale off her and used the railing to climb back to her feet.

“I don’t bloody believe this,” Crowley muttered.  “She’s allergic to fun.”

“I’m fine,” Uriel snapped as Aziraphale held his hands out to steady her.  “Keep your hands off me, you ignoble creature.”

Aziraphale withdrew his hands, glad that Uriel had slipped back into speaking in ancient Hebrew on that one.

Between concerns about Uriel’s health and the bulky clothing, they had to once again grease the wheels with a little miracle on the operator to get Uriel allowed onto the bumper cars. Crowley picked a car out for her to avoid the inevitable dallying he was sure would happen if she were expected to choose on her own.

“So what am I supposed to do to have fun?” said Uriel, stuffing her dress down into the car.

“Just watch me and Aziraphale!” said Crowley.  “You’ll get the idea soon enough!”

The electrified hum started, and the cars started to drift.  Crowley slammed his pedals and cranked the wheel to smash Aziraphale into the guard rail.

“I’m just s-supposed to hit people?” said Uriel, car drifting aimlessly.

“Yes!” yelled Crowley, as Aziraphale bashed into him in revenge.

That encouragement was all it took for Uriel to go to clueless to an absolute terror in seconds.  Uriel rammed them both repeatedly, without mercy, cackling the entire time.  Crowley and Aziraphale were both sure they had whiplash by the time the hum died and the cars fell still.

Uriel pulled at the wheel. “Why have we stopped?” she demanded.

“The ride’s over,” said Aziraphale, dismounting.

“O-over?” said Uriel. “It’s over?  That was all I’m allowed?”

Aziraphale motioned her to get out of the car, hoping to Heaven, Hell and anyone else listening that Uriel would just do it.  She unbuckled herself and clambered out, not looking very happy about it.

She stood sulking around by the ride exit.  “Surely that was only a few minutes _at most,_ ” she said huffily.  “What’s the point of having fun if you’ll be kicked off like an uninvited guest almost immediately?”

“Uriel, the point is everyone takes turns,” said Crowley.  “We can do it again.”

“We can?  How many times?”

“Well, as many as you want, I suppose.”

Uriel picked up the hem of her dress and dashed back into line.

“So that was fun?” said Uriel as Aziraphale and Crowley caught up.  “I can see why you like it.”

“Right,” said Crowley.

“Excuse me,” said a shy voice.

Uriel turned to see the woman behind her in line giving her a little wave.  Her other hand was holding a little girl’s arm, who was looking at Uriel like she was a celebrity.  “My daughter wanted to say something to you, if you don’t mind.”

The little girl turned bright red and hid her face in her mother’s leg.

“Go on, sweetheart.”

“Your dress is pretty,” said the little girl.

“Pretty?” scoffed Uriel. “Of course it is.  Don’t be absurd.”

Crowley yanked Uriel’s arm to turn her away from them, then sucked in a deep breath and spoke in a low voice.  “Uriel.”

“Yes?”

“Normally I’d say _You’re speaking ancient Hebrew again_ , but in this case I’m _very_ glad no one else could understand you.”

“You’re annoyed with me. Why are you annoyed with me?”

“Human children are very sensitive,” said Crowley.  “And when one of them pays you a compliment, you’re supposed to make them feel good in return.  That woman did you a great honour by bringing her child up to talk to you.”

“Oh,” said Uriel.  “So to be a good person, I should—”

“Make _her_ feel good in return.  That’s how you get people to like you.”

“Okay,” said Uriel.

“And I swear to someone—Uriel—If you can’t get a little girl _who already likes you_ to like you, you’re really hopeless.”

“Okay.”

“Easiest thing in the world. You can do it.”

“Okay.  I can do it.  Okay.”

She turned back to the human, who was looking a little nervous now.  “S-so where’s the groom?” she said.

“There isn’t one,” said Aziraphale.

“Oh, sorry for assuming. The other bride, then?”

Aziraphale put a palm to his face.

“You think my dress is pretty?” said Uriel.

The little girl nodded shyly.

Uriel got down on one knee, at eye level with the girl, and threw her arms out.  “I think _you’re_ prettier!”

The little girl’s face broke into a delighted smile, and she hopped forwards into Uriel’s arms.  Uriel picked her up and bounced her.  “You see that!  Aziraphale!  Did you see that?  Aziraphale!”

“I saw it.”

“She likes me!  She _likes_ me!  Someone _willingly_ made physical contact with me!”

Aziraphale and Crowley both grimaced and started to make gestures to try and convince Uriel to give the little girl back to her mother.

Uriel turned towards the people in front of her, which happened to be an adult couple.  “Do _you_ think my dress is pretty?”

“Er….sure,” said the woman, who sounded like she was afraid of being murdered.

The mother and daughter moved away after that.  The bumper cars apparently completely forgotten, Uriel pulled Aziraphale and Crowley out of line and stood in the middle of the food court with her fists clenched.  “Aziraphale, Crowley.  I want to go apologise to Michael.  I-I was just thinking about how…The only time I ever touched him was to hit him! I…”  Her eyes started to water.  “I-I can’t think of a single instance when I touched him gently.”

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other.

“I need to fix this right now.  I need to make things right between us.  I-I need to show him that I’m a better person now.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for it?” said Crowley.

She nodded vigorously.  “I can’t stand to wait another second longer.  Please.”

“All right, then,” said Aziraphale, with a very deep breath.  “Let’s go.”

* * *

In recent years, Mykas had taken to living in a small cottage out in the country with Angelo in the summers. The open air and grassy fields seemed to agree with the both of them, and they liked having their privacy, where few uninvited visitors came by.

Aziraphale briefly thought about calling Angelo to let him know they were coming, but he was afraid if he found out who they were accompanying, he would tell them to stay away.  He made do with sending a vague text to inquire as to whether they were busy, and when he got the confirmation that they would be home, stopped responding.

Uriel did not seem the least bit impressed by the pleasant yellow flowers bouncing at the edges of the front walkway, nor by the extravagant display of potted plants on the porch, nor by the very _haute_ assortment of gnome decorations littering the stairs.  She marched straight up onto the porch and paused in front of the door.  “He’s in here?”

Aziraphale and Crowley hung back at the edge of the porch and nodded.

Uriel knocked on the door.

This triggered an immediate explosion of sounds from inside: a cacophony of barks, muffled through the door, alternating with someone yelling.

“Angelo!  Someone’s at the door!  Angelo!  Someone’s here!”

“I’m coming!”

“ _Someone’s at the door, Angelo!”_  More barking.

“My hands are full, Mykas!”

“Are you going to get the door? The door!   _The door!_ ”

“You can answer it yourself, you know!”

The door _thumped_ , as though someone had slid into it in a bit of overexcitement.  Then, the lock clicked, and it tore open.

Mykas answered the door panting and with wide eyes.  “Who is it?”

His tail stopped wagging as soon as he saw who it was.

“Erm, hi,” said Uriel.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Mykas. “What do _you_ want?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” said Uriel.  “Can I come in?”

Mykas wrinkled his nose. “No, I don’t think you can, actually.”

Uriel clearly looked frazzled by that, but she plunged forwards, “All—all right, then, we can talk right here.  Michael, I want to apologise to you.”

Mykas opened the door all the way and stood in the frame with his meaty arms crossed.

“I was so horrible to you,” she said.  “Some of the other archangels were, too.  Like Gabriel. It was mostly him.  N-no, it was….it was me too.  I see that now.  I’m sorry.  I’m different now.  I’m going to be a good person from hereon out.  And I want us to be friends.”

“You want to be friends?” said Mykas with a huge grin.

“Yes!” said Uriel.  “So, will you forgive me?”

“Oh, certainly not.”

Uriel’s smile began to fade, and it was only at this point it became obvious to everyone on the porch that Mykas was not _smiling,_ but baring his teeth.

“Wh-what?” said Uriel. “You won’t?”

“Nope,” said Mykas, stepping back and grabbing the door knob.  “See ya.”

She jumped as the door slammed in her face.  She turned back to Aziraphale and Crowley with a manic look.  They waved her towards the door urgently.

She knocked on it once more.  It opened back up immediately.

“Maybe you didn’t quite understand me,” said Uriel.  “I’m saying I was wrong.  I want to make things right between us.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly.”

“Ah, Mykas, if I may…”  Aziraphale put his hand out and slunk over to interject. “After the way everyone forgave you for what _you_ did, it seems rather uncharitable to be so unyielding when you’re on the other end, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” Mykas snarled.  “I don’t care if I didn’t have a single friend in the world.  I _still_ wouldn’t be friends with Uriel, even then.  Is that clear enough for you?”

“Michael, you know me,” said Uriel.  “Surely you must grasp how difficult it is for me to do this?”

“My name—” said Mykas, snapping his teeth at her, and she backed up a pace, “is _Mykas_ , and yes, I _know_ how _hard_ it is for you to do this, because yes, I _do_ know you, and that’s why I don’t want anything to do with you.”  He gave Aziraphale and Crowley a hard look with his ears flat against his head. “And I don’t know if I want anything to do with anyone who pressures me to do something I don’t want to, either.”

“We have a chance to start over,” said Uriel.  “The past doesn’t have to matter, if we don’t want it to.”

“Yeah, well, I want it to.  Fuck off.”

All three of them stared at him with wide eyes.  He shut the door.

Uriel exploded immediately, kicking the door.  “Who do you think you are?” she screamed.  “You think you can talk to me that way?”

“ _Fuck,_ ” said Crowley. “ _Fuck fuck fuck—_ ”

Uriel wrangled her dress and walked off the porch, circling the house, yelling at the top of her lungs. “You think  _I’m_ a terrible person?  The sins on my soul are nothing compared to the _seas_ of blood you’ve spilled!”

Aziraphale and Crowley let out a chorus of exclamations and chased after her.

“You—You stupid animal!” she said to a window on the side of the house.  “I don’t know why _anyone_ would want to be friends with you anyway!”

“Uriel, stop,” said Crowley, hustling over.  “ _Please._ ”

“You’re not better than me! You’re a mass murderer!  You’re a monster!”

One of the second-story windows banged open, and Angelo appeared in it, leaning out.

“Tell that beast of yours to come out here and speak to me properly!” said Uriel.

“Uriel,” said Angelo, “there’s something I’ve wanted to say to you for a very long time.”

“Out with it, then.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Uriel stared up with mouth agape as Angelo closed the window and lowered the blind.  Her face darkened with anger, and her wings ripped from her back. “Who do _you_ think you are, you little imp?”

Crowley stepped forwards and grabbed Uriel’s arm.  “Just let it go.”

Uriel whirled around and cracked Crowley across the face, throwing him to the ground, then savagely kicked him.  “Don’t put your hands on me, you filthy—”

The next kick landed on Aziraphale’s shins as he moved between the demon and the archangel.  Uriel took a step back with a shocked look on her face, noting that he had his hand on the handle of a sword halfway out of the aether.

“Stop it,” said Aziraphale.

She looked past him to Crowley, levering himself upright in the dirt and trying to staunch a nosebleed with his hand.

“You—You—But we’re friends,” said Uriel.

“I don’t know what you are,” said Aziraphale.  “Friends don’t hit each other.”

Crowley averted his eyes to the ground.

Uriel looked from Aziraphale to Crowley, then back up at the window.  Then, she ran off in a panic, spreading her wings and shooting up into the sky.

Aziraphale turned back and helped Crowley up, lifting Crowley’s hand away to inspect the broken nose. Crowley grimaced and said, “I knew what we were getting into, I guess.”

They felt a pair of eyes on them, and they both looked up to see the window had opened again, and Mykas was looking out at where Uriel had flown off with hatred on his face.

* * *

Crowley still thought they should keep trying, because Uriel had shown signs of real progress for a while. Aziraphale said he didn’t want Uriel around Crowley anymore after what she had done.  Crowley had wrung his hands and said he didn’t _want_ to be around Uriel anymore, with a hopeful hint that, well, it doesn’t necessarily take _both_ of them, and surely you might be able to talk some sense into her, just as a latch ditch effort…

Aziraphale had learned to recognize when Crowley was pretending not to be scared and agreed without pressing the issue further.

Aziraphale was half afraid he would have to go back up to Heaven to find Uriel, but he eventually found her underneath an overpass, staring at a creek.  She was back in her usual garb; the wedding dress had been discarded in the mud a few meters away.

As Aziraphale got nearer, he saw tears on her face.  He put his back to the cement support pillar she was sprawled up against.  “I’ve never seen you cry before.”

The creek bubbled quietly.

“Kabata cried before you killed him,” said Aziraphale.  “And the demon who loved him cried when she found out he was gone.  So maybe now you have some idea what the pain you’ve caused feels like.”

Uriel wiped her face. “What do you _want?_ ”

Aziraphale slid down so he was sitting.  “Do you think crying will make it all better?  Do you think feeling bad about yourself makes up for what you did?”

“I can’t do it,” said Uriel. “I tried to change, and I couldn’t do it.  I can’t overcome my basic nature.  It’s just who I am.  I might as well not even try.”

“That’s a load of bollox,” Aziraphale snapped.

Uriel finally looked at him with puffy eyes full of anger.

“That’s an excuse to avoid putting in any effort into changing.  That’s an excuse to continue being a bad person.”

“I apologised to him,” said Uriel.  “I apologised to him, and he still didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Aziraphale put his hands together.  “And then you did _that._ ”

“What do you _expect_ me to do?” Uriel cried.  “Thank him?”

“Do you care about Mykas’s feelings, Uriel?  Do you really?”

“Of course I do.  Why else would I apologise?”

“Because you can’t stand not having control over him anymore.”

“Be quiet,” Uriel said in a strained whisper.

“He saw _right_ through it, he knew you were apologising for your own sake, not his.  He knew you weren’t different at all.  And the way you reacted proves he was exactly right.  He knew that venom was what you had in your heart through every _I’m sorry_ you offered him.”

“Be quiet.”

“You can’t just _say_ you’re a better person now and expect everyone to believe you, Uriel.  Just _saying_ it doesn’t make it true.”

“I _want_ to change,” said Uriel.  “I _want_ to.”

“That’s not enough.  You have to actually do it.  You have to actually treat others better.”  Aziraphale sighed and leaned his head back.  “I’ve made some mistakes with Crowley.  I’ve mistreated him.  So I know something about apologies.  And an apology is like…It’s like this, Uriel.  It’s your way of saying, ‘I understand that I’ve hurt you.  I want to make it better to full extent possible, to right the wrong I’ve done, so that you can be happy and healthy again.’”  

“That’s what I _did._ ”

“And part of that sincerity is the possibility that they might _still_ reject you, and you have to be okay with that if it’s a real apology. The point of an apology is the _other person_ , not you.  If you don’t give them the option to reject your apology, if they’re not in a position to walk away from you….It’s not a real apology. Sometimes, to be happy and healthy after you’ve hurt them, what someone needs…is to just not ever see you again. And if you can’t accept that, it’s _your_ fault, not his, because that means you weren’t really apologising.  You were just asking for permission to control and abuse him again.”

“I don’t understand,” said Uriel, tears streaming down her face.  “I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do if he wants me to stay away.  Are you saying I don’t deserve friends?  Everyone else gets them.  How come I don’t?”

“Nobody’s saying you can’t have friends.  Nothing is stopping you from having friends.”

“Nobody likes me, nobody _truly_ loves me.  Not even Metatron.  They just sort of tolerate me.  God was the only one who truly loved me, and He’s gone.  Where do I belong?”

“God loved you and cared for you the same way you ‘cared’ for Michael.  Surely you must have realised that by now.”

Uriel looked up at him sharply.  Aziraphale held her steely gaze.

“I almost feel sorry for you,” said Aziraphale.  “You used to be in control of so many things.  Such power.  Now you’re not even in control of your own feelings.  Nobody respects you anymore.  You’re just a bully now.  An afterthought.”

Uriel clenched her teeth. “I am _Uriel_ , Keeper of the—”

“You’re a loser is what you are.  A friendless, bitter loser who’s finally been exposed for how petty and mean she is, and that’s what you’ll always be unless you stop doing this.”

“Listen here, you—”

“There’s no easy way to say this!  There’s no getting around it!” Aziraphale practically shouted.  “If you want friends, you need to stop being an _abusive prick._ Lord knows it’s hard for you, I see!  You just need to accept that you don’t control Mykas anymore!  You need to _leave him alone!_ ”

“If we hadn’t kept Michael in line for all those years,” said Uriel, “then he would have fallen much sooner. You realise that, right?”

“Maybe you genuinely believe that, Uriel, I don’t know.  But you realise that makes it a thousand times worse, right?  That you pretend you were doing it to be selfless?  When in reality, it was the most selfish thing you could have possibly done?”

The creek babbled quietly in the ensuing silence.  And a big brown dog appeared on the other side of it, nose to the ground.  Its head perked up when it caught sight of them, and it trotted over, splashing in the creek.

Uriel and Aziraphale didn’t move, because if Mykas intended on attacking either of them, it was already too late for them to get away.  They both knew how fast Mykas was capable of moving.

When he cleared the creek, the dog shifted into a hunched, bear-like form dragging a sword.  Uriel shakily got to her feet.

Her knees buckled and she fell back to the ground when Mykas snarled at her.

The sword plunged into the Earth half a meter away from Uriel’s feet, and Mykas squatted down with one hand on it, leaning right into Uriel’s face.

Uriel looked up into his animalistic eyes, breathing heavily.

“Listen to what I’m about to say, because I’m only going to say it once,” said Mykas.  “If I _ever_ catch you hitting Crowley like that again, if I _ever_ find out that you’re hurting my friends, if you _ever_ start abusing them, if you lay a _hand_ on him, if you scare him, if you even _look_ at him the wrong way—I will kill you.  No matter where you are, no matter who you’re friends with, no matter the circumstances.  You will be dead.  Do you understand?”

Uriel didn’t respond.

“You’re a fool if you think you can just walk in and fix everything with a smile and a handshake. Every night when I go to sleep I have nightmares about being locked in a cage because of what you did to me.  I don’t want to be your friend.  I don’t want your apologies.  I don’t want you to make it up to me.  I want you—”

He leaned in, and Uriel pressed her head flat against the cement pillar.

“—to get the fuck out of my life.  The world would be better if you died in a fire as far as I’m concerned.  Michael is gone, and Mykas doesn’t take any of the shite that you threw at him.”

Mykas un-wedged his sword from the ground, turned around, and started to walk away.

Uriel scrambled into a standing position, looking utterly beaten, utterly defeated in a way that she hadn’t even while on the verge of death.

She sucked in a breath to shout something.

“Whatever you’re going to say,” Aziraphale interrupted.  “Just let it go.  Just keep it down.  If you don’t, it’s over for you.  It really will be.”

Uriel closed her mouth. Mykas disappeared over the ridge and out of sight.

“For six-thousand years I made myself believe that demons deserved their punishment,” said Uriel. “And that I was better than them for obeying.  And admitting now that maybe I was wrong means facing the possibility that everything I’ve ever done was wrong.  Maybe I’m not Uriel, God’s most perfect servant.  Maybe I’m…Uriel, the worst person who’s ever lived.  How am I even supposed to _begin_ surmounting that?”

“I don’t know,” said Aziraphale. “But this is your last chance to try. You blew it with Mykas.  You blew it with Crowley.  I’ll help you one more time.  But I’m not going to keep trying if _you’re_ not going to try.”

“I will try.”

“It’s going to take a lot of work.  Are you willing to put it in?  To do whatever it takes?  It’s going to be hard.”

“Yes,” said Uriel.  “Yes, I will.  I promise.  Anything you tell me to do.”

Aziraphale stood up and put his hands in his pockets.  “You’re going to write a letter to Mykas, and you’re going to show it to me.  If I approve it, I’ll slide it under his door.  And that will be the last contact you ever have with him.”

“What then?” said Uriel. “Where do we begin?”

“I have an idea,” said Aziraphale.  “You need a friend who won’t take any bullshit.  And who’s not afraid to smack you upside the head when you deserve it.  I know just the perfect person.”

* * *

Aziraphale read Uriel’s letter very carefully, multiple times, to ensure there was nothing in it that could be received the wrong way. Then, he went back over to Mykas’s place and placed it in the mailbox, removing the identifying markings so it would not be obvious who it was from.

The letter would be discovered and read three hours later, and there would be peace in that house for a long time.

Aziraphale came back and found Uriel waiting for him where he had left her.  A few texts confirmed his plans, and then they were on their way.

They took the tube over, and then there was a bit of walking, but they reached their destination:  The outdoor seating area of a certain restaurant.  There was a delicious breeze in the air, which whipped at the sunhat and black hair of the huge woman sitting at one of the tables.

Maltha looked up from her phone, which was displaying Aziraphale’s text message about their progress. Beth peeked her head out from behind Maltha and waved.

Uriel came to a stop in front of Maltha.  Maltha lowered her sunglasses.

“You were right,” said Uriel.  “All those thousands of years ago. You were right, and I was wrong, and I was cruel and a fool and a coward.  I don’t have any way to make up for things so long in the past, and I’m not the kind of person who deserves your friendship.  But I hope, with your help, I might _become_ the kind of person who deserves it, if you can find the patience and kindness to help me learn what you’ve learned.  If you’re willing.  You’re in control here.”

She folded her hands in front of herself and waited.  And for once, it didn’t look like there was a tempter tantrum lurking just under her skin.

Maltha pushed her sunglasses back up onto her face, turned around, and waved to get the server’s attention.  “Will you please get two more wine glasses for my friends here?”

Uriel’s face lit up with an expression of happiness.  And she and Aziraphale took seats at the table, ready to begin.


End file.
